The Destroyer
by thebestofall
Summary: AU! Perseus is a demigod in Ancient Greece, where demigods mostly make a living by killing monsters. In a world where mages rule Greece and the gods are no longer worshiped, follow Percy as he is dragged into a conflict he absolutely didn't want to be a part of. Through adventures that take him through hell and high water, will he get the peace he wants? Read to find out!
1. A Grain of Truth

**A/N:Okay guys. This is an experiment. I want to write a new story which takes place in a different universe than the books. It also takes place in Ancient Greece.  
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 **There is absolutely no historical accuracy and please do not expect any. I aim to entertain, not educate.  
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 **This acts as a prologue to my new story (if you like it), or it can also be treated as a one-shot.  
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 **As always, please write your thoughts in the review section. This is important for me because this chapter is experimental and I need feedback.**

 **THANK YOU AND ENJOY!**

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( _480 B.C.E, Betwe en Argos And Sparta_)

A number of black points moving against a bright sky streaked with mist drew the demigod's attention. Birds. They wheeled in slow, peaceful circles, then suddenly swooped and soared up again, napping their wings.

The son of Poseidon observed the birds for a long time then – bearing in mind the shape of the land, density of the wood, depth and course of the ravine which he suspected lay in his path – calculated the distance to them, and how long he would take to cover it. Finally, he threw aside his coat and tightened the belt across his chest by two holes. The pommel and hilt of the sword strapped across his back peeked over his shoulder.

"We'll go a little out of our way, Jack," he said. "We'll take a detour from the highway. I don't think the birds are circling there for nothing. Sparta can wait."

The mare walked on, obedient to Perseus's voice.

"Maybe it's just a dead elk," said Perseus. "But maybe it's not. Who knows?"

There was a ravine, as he had suspected; the demigod scanned the crowns of the trees tightly filling the rift. But the sides of the gully were gentle, the riverbed dry and clear of blackthorns and rotting tree trunks. He crossed it easily. On the other side was a copse of birches, and behind it a large glade, heath and undergrowth, which threw tentacles of tangled branches and roots upwards.

The birds, scared away by the appearance of a rider, soared higher, croaking sharply in their hoarse voices.

Perseus saw the first corpse immediately – the white of the sheepskin jacket and matt-blue of the dress stood out clearly against a yellowing clump of sedge. He didn't see the second corpse but it's location was betrayed by three wolves sitting calmly on their haunches watching him. His mare snorted and the wolves, as if at a command, unhurriedly, trotted into the woods, every now and again turning their triangular heads to watch the newcomer. Perseus jumped off his horse.

The woman in the sheepskin and blue dress had no face or throat, and most of her left thigh had gone. The demigod, not leaning over, walked by her.

The man lay with his face to the ground. Perseus didn't turn the body over, seeing that the wolves and birds hadn't been idle. And there was no need to examine the corpse in detail – the shoulders and back of the woollen doublet were covered with thick black rivulets of dried blood. It was clear the man had died from a blow to the neck, and the wolves had only found the body afterwards.

On a wide belt next to a short cutlass in a wooden sheath the man wore a leather purse. The demigod tore it off and, item by item, threw the contents on the grass: a tinder-box, a piece of chalk, sealing-wax, a handful of silver coins, a folding shaving-knife with a bone handle, a rabbit's ear, three keys and a talisman with a phallic symbol. Two letters, written on canvas, were damp with rain and dew, smudged beyond readability. The third, written on parchment, was also ruined by damp, but still legible. It was a credit note made out by the central bank in Argos to a merchant called Hendricks. It wasn't for a large sum.

Bending over, Perseus lifted the man's right hand. As he had expected, the copper ring digging into the swollen, blue finger carried the sign of the armourers' guild: a stylised helmet with visor, two crossed swords and the rune 'A' engraved beneath them.

The demigod returned to the woman's corpse. As he was turning the body over something pricked him in the finger – a rose, pinned to the dress. The flower had withered but not lost its colour: the petals were dark blue, very dark blue. It was the first time Perseus had seen such a rose. He turned the body over completely and winced.

On the woman's bare and bloody neck were clear bite marks. And not those of a wolf.

The demigod carefully backed away to his horse. Without taking his eyes from the forest edge, he climbed into the saddle. He circled the glade twice and, leaning over, looked around, examining the ground closely.

"So, Jack," he said quietly, "the case is reasonably clear. The armourer and the woman arrived on horseback from the direction of the forest. They were on their way home from Argos, because nobody carries an uncashed credit note for long. Why they were going this way and not following the highway? I don't know. But they were crossing the heath, side by side. And then – again, I don't know why – they both dismounted, or fell from, their horses. The armourer died instantly. The woman ran, then fell and died, and whatever attacked her – which didn't leave any tracks – dragged her along the ground, with her throat in its teeth. The horses ran off. This happened two or three days ago."

The mare snorted restlessly, reacting to his tone of voice.

"The thing which killed them," continued Perseus, watching the forest's edge, "was neither a werewolf nor a leshy. Neither would have left so much for the scavengers. If there were swamps here I'd say it was a kikimora or a vypper . . . but there aren't any swamps here."

Leaning over, the demigod pulled back the blanket which covered the horse's side and uncovered another sword strapped to the saddle-bag – one with a shining, ornate guard and black corrugated hilt.

"Well, Jack. We're taking a roundabout route; we'd better check why this armourer and woman were riding through the forest not along the highway. If we pass by ignoring such incidents we won't ever earn enough for your oats, will we?"

The mare obediently moved forward, across the heath, carefully sidestepping hollows.

"Although it's not a werewolf, we won't take any risks," the demigod continued, taking a shard of silver from a saddlebag and hanging it by the bit. The mare snorted.

Following the tracks of the armourer and the young woman, he finally reached what looked like the end of the trail.

He noticed the red tiles of the tower's conical roof from the summit of a hill as he cut across a bend in the faint trail. The slope, covered with hazel, dry branches and a thick carpet of yellow leaves, wasn't safe to descend on horseback. The demigod retreated, carefully rode down the incline and returned to the main path. He rode slowly, stopped the horse every now and again and, hanging from the saddle, looked out for tracks.

The mare tossed her head, neighed wildly, stamped and danced on the path, kicking up a storm of dried leaves. Perseus, wrapping his left arm around the horse's neck, swept his right hand over Jack's head. A light green light emitted from his palm. It was an ability gifted to children of Poseidon. The ability to calm any creature created by Poseidon.

"Is it as bad as all that?" he murmured, looking around and not withdrawing his magic. "Easy, Jack, easy."

The charm worked quickly but the mare, prodded with his heel, moved forward reluctantly, losing the natural springy rhythm of her gait. The demigod jumped nimbly to the ground and went on by foot, leading her by the bridle. He saw a wall.

There was no gap between the wall and the forest, no distinct break. The young trees and juniper bushes twined their leaves with the ivy and wild vines clinging to the stonework. Perseus looked up. At that same moment, he felt a prickle along his neck, as if an invisible, soft creature had latched on to his neck, lifting the hairs there.

He was being watched.

He turned around smoothly. Jack snorted; the muscles in her neck twitched, moved under her skin.

A girl was standing on the slope of the hill he had just climbed down, one arm resting on the trunk of an alder tree. Her trailing white dress contrasted with the glossy blackness of her dishevelled hair, falling to her shoulders. She seemed to be smiling, but she was too far away to be sure.

"Hello," he said, raising his hand in a friendly gesture. He took a step towards the girl. She turned her head a little, following his movements. Her face was pale, her eyes black and enormous. The smile – if it had been a smile – vanished from her face as though wiped away with a cloth. Perseus took another step, the leaves rustled underfoot, and the girl ran down the slope like a deer, flitting between the hazel bushes. She was no more than a white streak as she disappeared into the depths of the forest. The long dress didn't appear to restrict her ease of movement in the least.

Perseus's eyes widened ever so slightly as he watched her disappear. She was fast. Very fast. His eyes barely caught her movement as she vanished.

Jack neighed anxiously, tossing her head. Perseus, still watching the forest, instinctively calmed her with his gift again. Pulling the mare by the bridle he walked slowly along the wall, wading through burdock up to the waist.

He came to a sturdy gate, with iron fittings and rusty hinges, furnished with a great brass knocker. After a moment's hesitation Perseus reached out and touched the tarnished ring. He immediately jumped back as, at that moment, the gate opened, squeaking, clattering, and raking aside clumps of grass, stones and branches. There was no one behind it – the demigod could only see a deserted courtyard, neglected and overgrown with nettles. He entered, leading Jack. The mare, still stunned by the magic, didn't resist, but she moved stiffly and hesitantly after him.

The courtyard was surrounded on three sides by a wall and the remains of some wooden scaffolding. On the fourth side stood the mansion, its façade mottled by a pox of chipped plaster, dirty damp patches, and festooned with ivy. The shutters, with their peeling paint, were closed, as was the door.

Perseus threw Jack's reins over the pillar by the gate and slowly made his way towards the mansion, following the gravel path past a small fountain full of leaves and rubbish. In the centre of the fountain, on a fanciful plinth, a white stone dolphin arched, turning its chipped tail upwards.

Next to the fountain in what, a very long time ago, used to be a flowerbed, grew a rosebush. Nothing but the colour of the flowers made this bush unique – but the flowers were exceptional: indigo, with a faint shade of purple on the tips of some of the petals. The demigod touched one, brought his face closer and inhaled. The flowers held the typical scent of roses, only a little more intense.

The door and all the shutters of the mansion flew open at the same instant with a bang. Perseus raised his head abruptly. Down the path, scrunching the gravel, a monster was rushing straight at him.

The demigod right hand rose, as fast as lightning, above his right shoulder while his left jerked the belt across his chest making the sword hilt jump into his palm. The blade, leaping from the scabbard with a hiss, traced a short, luminous semi-circle and froze, the point aiming at the charging beast.

At the sight of the sword the monster stopped short, spraying gravel in all directions. The demigod didn't even flinch.

The creature was humanoid, and dressed in clothes which, though tattered, were of good quality and not lacking in stylish and useless ornamentation. His human form, however, reached no higher than the soiled collar of his tunic, for above it loomed a gigantic, hairy, bear-like head with enormous ears, a pair of wild eyes and terrifying jaws full of crooked fangs in which a red tongue flickered like flame.

"Flee, mortal!" the monster roared, flapping his paws but not moving from the spot. "I'll devour you! Tear you to pieces!" The demigod didn't move, didn't lower his sword. "Are you deaf? Away with you!" The creature screamed, then made a sound somewhere between a pig's squeal and a stag's bellowing roar, making the shutters rattle and clatter and shaking rubble and plaster from the sills. Neither Perseus nor monster moved.

"Clear off while you're still in one piece!" roared the creature, less sure of himself. "Because if you don't, then—"

'Then what?' Perseus challenged.

The monster suddenly gasped and tilted his monstrous head. "Look at him, isn't he brave?" He spoke calmly, baring his fangs and glowering at Perseus with bloodshot eyes. "Lower that iron, if you please. Perhaps you've not realised you're in my courtyard? Or maybe it's customary, wherever you come from, to threaten people with swords in their own courtyards?"

"It is customary," Perseus agreed, "when faced with people who greet their guests with a roar and the cry that they're going to tear you to pieces."

"Pox on it!" The monster got himself worked up. "And he'll insult me on top of it all, this straggler. A guest, is he? Pushes his way into the yard, ruins someone else's flowers, plays the lord and thinks that he'll be brought bread and salt. Bah!"

The creature spat, gasped and shut his jaws. The lower fangs protruded, making him look like a boar.

"So?" The demigod spoke after a moment, lowering his sword. "Are we going to carry on standing like this?"

"And what do you suggest instead? Lying down?" snorted the monster. "Put that iron away, I said."

The demigod nimbly slipped the weapon into its scabbard and, without lowering his arm, stroked the hilt which rose above his shoulder.

"Listen well," he said, "no sudden moves. This sword can always be drawn again, faster than you imagine."

"I noticed," rasped the monster. "If it wasn't for that you'd have been out of this gate a long time ago, with my bootprint on your arse. What do you want here? How did you get here?"

"I got lost," Perseus lied, cringing internally at the excuse he gave.

"You got lost," repeated the monster, twisting his jaws in a menacing grin. "Well, unlose your way. Out of the gate, turn your left ear to the sun and keep walking and you'll soon get back to the highway. Well? What are you waiting for?"

"Is there any water?" asked Perseus calmly. "The horse is thirsty. And so am I, if that doesn't inconvenience you."

The monster shifted from one foot to the other and scratched his ear. "Listen you," he said. "Are you really not frightened of me?"

"Should I be?"

The monster looked around, cleared his throat and yanked up his baggy trousers.

"Pox on it, what's the harm of a guest in the house? It's not every day I meet someone who doesn't run away or faint at the sight of me. All right then. If you're a weary but honest wanderer I invite you in. But if you're a bandit or a thief, then I warn you: this house does what I tell it to. Within these walls I rule!"

He lifted his hairy paw. All the shutters clattered against the wall once more and deep in the dolphin's stone gullet something rumbled.

"I invite you in," he repeated.

Perseus didn't move, scrutinising him.

"Do you live alone?", he asked.

"What's that to do with you?" said the monster angrily, opening his jaws, then croaked loudly, "Oh, I see. No doubt you'd like to know whether I've got forty servants all as beautiful as me. I don't. Well, pox, are you going to make use of my generous invitation? If not, the gate's over there."

Perseus bowed stiffly. "I accept your invitation," he said formally. "I won't slight the right of hospitality."

"My house is your house," the monster said in return, just as formally, although a little offhandedly. "This way please, dear guest. And leave the horse here, by the well."

The interior was in need of extensive repair, although it was reasonably clean and tidy. The furniture had been made by skilled craftsmen, if a very long time ago. A pungent smell of dust hung in the dark rooms.

"Light!" growled the monster, and the torch in its iron bracket burst into flames and sooty smoke.

"Not bad," remarked the demigod

The monster cackled. "That's it? I see you won't be amazed by any old trick. I told you this house obeys my commands. This way, please. Careful, the stairs are steep. Light!"

The centre of the large room, completely devoid of windows, was taken up by a huge oak table, empty apart from an enormous brass candlestick, slowly turning green and covered with trickles of hardened wax. At the monster's command the candles lit and flickered, brightening the interior a little.

One wall was hung with weapons, compositions of round shields, crossed partisans, javelins and guisarmes, heavy sabres and axes. Half of the adjacent wall was taken up by an enormous fireplace, above which hung rows of flaking and peeling portraits. The wall facing the entrance was filled with hunting trophies – elks and stag antlers whose branching racks threw long shadows across the grinning mounted heads of wild boar, bear and lynx, over the ruffled and frayed wings of eagles and hawks. The place of honour was filled by a manticore's head, tainted brown, damaged and leaking stuffing. Perseus examined it more closely.

"My grandpa killed it," said the monster, throwing a huge log into the depths of the fireplace. "It was probably the last one in the vicinity when it got itself killed. Sit, my dear guest. You're hungry?"

"I won't deny it, dear host."

The monster sat at the table, lowered his head, clasped his hairy paws over his stomach, muttered something while twiddling his enormous thumbs, then suddenly roared, thumping the table with his paw. Dishes and platters rattled like pewter and silver, chalices jingled like crystal. There was a smell of roast meat, garlic, marjoram and nutmeg. Perseus did not show any surprise, although he really was impressed.

"Yes." The monster rubbed his hands. "This is better than servants, isn't it? Help yourself, dear guest. Here is some fowl, here some boar ham, here terrine of . . . I don't know what. Something. Here we have some hazel grouse. Pox, no, it's partridge. I got the spells muddled up. Eat up, eat up. This is proper, real food, don't worry."

"I'm not worried." Perseus tore the fowl in two.

"I forgot," snorted the monster, "that you're not timid. What shall I call you?"

"Perseus. And your name, dear host?"

"Nivellen. But they call me Degen or Fanger around here. And they use me to frighten children."

The monster poured the contents of an enormous chalice down his throat, after which he sank his fingers in the terrine, tearing half of it from the bowl in one go.

"Frighten children …," repeated Perseus with his mouth full. "Without any reason, no doubt?"

"Of course not. Your health, Perseus!"

"And yours, Nivellen."

"How's the wine? Have you noticed that it's made from grapes and not apples? But if you don't like it I'll conjure up a different one."

"Thank you, it's not bad. Are your magical powers innate?"

"No. I've had them since growing this. This trap, that is. I don't know how it happened myself, but the house does whatever I wish. Nothing very big; I can conjure up food, drink, clothes, clean linen, hot water, soap. Any woman can do that, and without using magic at that. I can open and close windows and doors. I can light a fire. Nothing very remarkable."

"It's something. And this . . . trap, as you call it, have you had it long?"

"Twelve years."

"How did it happen?"

"What's it got to do with you? Pour yourself some more wine."

"With pleasure. It's got nothing to do with me. I'm just asking out of curiosity."

"An acceptable reason," the monster said, and laughed loudly. "But I don't accept it. It's got nothing to do with you and that's that. But just to satisfy your curiosity a little I'll show you what I used to look like. Look at those portraits. The first from the chimney is my father. The second, pox only knows. And the third is me. Can you see it?"

Beneath the dust and spider-webs a nondescript man with a bloated, sad, spotty face and watery eyes looked down from the painting. Perseus, who was no stranger to the way portrait painters tended to flatter their clients, nodded.

"Can you see it?" repeated Nivellen, baring his fangs.

"I can."

"Who are you?"

"I don't understand."

"You don't understand?" The monster raised his head; his eyes shone like a cat's. "My portrait is hung beyond the candlelight. I can see it, but I'm not human. At least, not at the moment. A human, looking at my portrait, would get up, go closer and, no doubt, have to take the candlestick with him. You didn't do that, so the conclusion is simple. But I'm asking you plainly: are you human?"

Internally, the demigod cursed worse than a sailor. He slipped and made a mistake.

Perseus didn't lower his eyes. "If that's the way you put it," he answered after a moment's silence, "then, not quite."

"Ah. Surely it won't be tactless if I ask, in that case, what you are?"

"A demigod."

"Ah," Nivellen repeated after a moment. "If I remember rightly, demigods earn their living in an interesting way – they kill monsters for money."

"You remember correctly. Although … some demigods are also advisors to kings."

Silence fell again. Candle flames pulsated, flicked upwards in thin wisps of fire, glimmering in the cut-crystal chalices. Cascades of wax trickled down the candlestick.

Nivellen sat still, lightly twitching his enormous ears. "Let's assume," he said finally, "that you draw your sword before I jump on you. Let's assume you even manage to cut me down. With my weight, that won't stop me; I'll take you down through sheer momentum. And then it's teeth that'll decide. What do you think, _demigod_ , which one of us has a better chance if it comes to biting each other's throats?"

Perseus, steadying the carafe's pewter stopper with his thumb, poured himself some wine, took a sip and leaned back into his chair. He was watching the monster with a cocky smile, sending a clear message to the monster.

"Yeeees," said Nivellen slowly, digging at the corner of his jaws with his claw. "One has to admit you can answer questions without using many words. It'll be interesting to see how you manage the next one. Who paid you to deal with me?"

"No one. I'm here by accident."

"You're not lying, by any chance?"

"I'm not in the habit of lying."

"And what are you in the habit of doing? I've heard about demigods. They're taken to special _schools_. Taught to kill, and all human feelings and reactions are trained out of them. They're turned into monsters in order to kill other monsters. I've heard it said it's high time someone started hunting demigods, as there are fewer and fewer monsters and more and more demigods. Do have some partridge before it's completely cold."

Nivellen took the partridge from the dish, put it between his jaws and crunched it like a piece of toast, bones cracking as they were crushed between his teeth.

"Why don't you say anything?" he asked indistinctly, swallowing. "How much of the rumours about you demigods is true?"

"Practically nothing."

"And what's a lie?"

"That there are fewer and fewer monsters."

"True. There's a fair number of them." Nivellen bared his fangs. "One is sitting in front of you wondering if he did the right thing by inviting you in. I didn't like your sword right from the start, dear guest."

"You aren't a monster, Nivellen," the demigod said dryly.

"Pox, that's something new. So what am I? Cranberry pudding? A flock of wild geese flying south on a sad November morning? No? Maybe I'm the virtue that a miller's buxom daughter lost in spring? Well, Perseus, tell me what I am. Can't you see I'm shaking with curiosity?"

"You're not a monster. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to touch this Celestial Bronze tray. And in no way could you command a sentient house and conjure food."

"Ha!" Nivellen roared so powerfully the candle flames fell horizontal for a moment. "Today, very clearly, is a day for revealing great and terrible secrets! Now I'm going to be told that I grew these ears because I didn't like milky porridge as a child!"

"No, Nivellen," said Perseus calmly. "It happened because of a spell. I'm sure you know who cast that spell."

"And what if I do?'

"In many cases a spell can be uncast."

"You, as a demigod, can uncast spells in many cases?"

"I can. Do you want me to try?"

'No. I don't." The monster opened his jaws and poked out his tongue, two span long, and very red. "Surprised you, hasn't it?"

"That it has," admitted Perseus. He'd never met a cursed being who wanted to stay that way.

The monster giggled and lounged in his armchair. "I knew that would," he said. "Pour yourself some more, get comfortable and I'll tell you the whole story. Demigod or not, you've got an honest face and I feel like talking. Pour yourself more."

"There's none left."

"Pox on it!" The monster cleared his throat, then thumped the table with his paw again. A large earthenware demijohn in a wicker basket appeared next to the two empty carafes, from nowhere. Nivellen tore the sealing wax off with his teeth.

"As no doubt you've noticed," he began, pouring the wine, "this is quite a remote area. It's a long way to the nearest human settlement. It's because, you see, my father, and my grandfather too, in his time, didn't make themselves particularly loved by our neighbours or the merchants using the highway. If anyone went astray here and my father spotted them from the tower, they lost – at best – their fortune. And a couple of the nearer settlements were burnt because Father decided the levies were being paid tardily. Not many people liked my father. Except for me, naturally. I cried awfully when what was left of my father after a blow from a two-handed sword was brought home on a cart one day. Grandpa didn't take part in robbery anymore because, ever since he was hit on the head with a morningstar, he had a terrible stutter. He dribbled and rarely made it to the privy on time. As their heir, I had to lead the gang."

"I was young at the time," Nivellen continued, "a real milksop, so the lads in the crew wound me around their little fingers in a flash. I was as much in command of them as a fat piglet is of a pack of wolves. We soon began doing things which Father would never have allowed, had he been alive. I'll spare you the details and get straight to the point. One day we took ourselves as far as Gelibol, near Sparta, and robbed a temple. A young priestess was there too."

"Which temple, Nivellen?"

"Pox only knows, but it must have been a bad one. There were skulls and bones on the altar, I remember, and a green fire was burning. It stank like nobody's business. But to the point. The lads overpowered the priestess and stripped her, then said I had to become a man. Well, I became a man, stupid little snot that I was, and while I was achieving manhood the priestess spat into my face and screamed something."

"What?"

"That I was a monster in human skin, that I'd be a monster in a monster's skin, something about love, blood . . . I can't remember. She must have had the dagger, a little one, hidden in her hair. She killed herself and then— … We fled from there, Perseus, I'm telling you – we nearly wore our horses out. It was a bad temple."

"Go on."

"Then it was as the priestess had said. A few days later, I woke up and as the servants saw me, they screamed and took to their heels. I went to the mirror . . . You see, Perseus, I panicked, had some sort of an attack, I remember it almost through a haze. To put it briefly, corpses fell. Several. I used whatever came to hand – and I'd suddenly become very strong. And the house helped as best it could: doors slammed, furniture flew in the air, fires broke out. Whoever could get out ran away in a panic: my aunt and cousin, the lads from the crew. What am I saying? Even the dogs howled and cowered. My cat, Glutton, ran away. Even my aunt's parrot kicked the bucket out of fear. I was alone, roaring, howling, going mad, smashing whatever came to hand, mainly mirrors."

Nivellen paused, sighed and sniffed.

"When the attack was over," he resumed after a while, "it was already too late. I was alone. I couldn't explain to anyone that only my appearance had changed, that although in this horrible shape I was just a stupid youngster, sobbing over the servants' bodies in an empty manor. I was afraid they'd come back and kill me before I could explain. But nobody returned."

The monster grew silent for a moment and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I don't want to go back to those first months, Perseus. It still leaves me shaking when I recall them. I'll get to the point. For a long time, a very long time, I sat in the manor, quiet as a mouse, not stirring from the place. If anyone appeared, which rarely happened, I wouldn't go out. I'd tell the house to slam the shutters a couple of times, or I'd roar through the gargoyle, and that was usually enough for the would-be guest to leave in a hurry. So that's how it was, until one day I looked out of the window one pale dawn and – what did I see? Some trespasser stealing a rose from my aunt's bush. And it isn't just any old rosebush: these are blue roses from Delphi. It was Grandfather who brought the seedlings. I flew into a fury and jumped outside."

The monster paused for dramatic effect. "The fat trespasser, when he got his voice back – he'd lost it when he saw me – squealed that he only wanted a few flowers for his daughter, that I should spare him, spare his life and his health. I was just ready to kick him out of the main gate when I remembered something. Stories Lenka, my nanny – the old hag – used to tell me. Pox on it, I thought, if pretty girls turn frogs into princes, or the other way round, then maybe . . . Maybe there's a grain of truth in these stories, a chance . . . I leapt four yards, roared so loud wild vine tumbled from the wall, and I yelled 'Your daughter or your life!' Nothing better came to mind. The merchant, for he was a merchant, began to weep, then confessed that his daughter was only eight."

Perseus snickered.

"Are you laughing?"

The demigod straightened up. "No."

"I didn't know whether to laugh or cry over my shitty fate. I felt sorry for the old trader. I couldn't watch him shake like that. I invited him inside, made him welcome and, when he was leaving I poured gold and precious stones into his bag. There was still a fair fortune in the cellar from Father's day. I hadn't quite known what to do with it, so I could allow myself this gesture. The merchant beamed and thanked me so profusely that he slobbered all over himself. He must have boasted about his adventure somewhere because not two weeks had gone by when another merchant appeared. He had a pretty large bag ready with him. And a daughter. Also pretty large."

Nivellen extended his legs under the table and stretched until the armchair creaked.

"I came to an understanding with the merchant in no time," he continued. "He'd leave her with me for a year. I had to help him load the sack onto his mule; he wouldn't have managed by himself."

"And the girl?"

"She had fits at the sight of me for a while. She really thought I'd eat her. But after a month we were eating at the same table, chatting and going for long walks. She was kind, and remarkably smart, and I'd get tongue-tied when I talked to her. You see, Perseus, I was always shy with girls, always made a laughing stock of myself, even with wenches from the cowshed with dung up to their knees, girls the lads from the crew turned over this way and that at will. Even they made fun of me. To say nothing of having a maw like this. I couldn't even make myself say anything about why I had paid so dearly for a year of her life. The year dragged like the stench following marauding troops until, at last, the merchant arrived and took her away."

Nivellen sighed. "I locked myself in the house, resigned, and didn't react for several months to any of the guests who turned up with daughters. But after a year spent with company, I realised how hard it was to live without anyone to talk to." The monster made a noise which was supposed to be a sigh but came out more like a hiccough.

"The next one," he said after a while, "was called Fenne. She was small, bright and chirpy, a real goldcrest. She wasn't frightened of me at all. Once, on the anniversary of my first haircut, my coming of age, we'd both drunk too much mead and . . . ha, ha. Straight after, I jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. I must admit I was disappointed, and despondent. The trap was the same as it ever was, if with a slightly more stupid expression. And they say the wisdom of ages is to be found in fairy tales. It's not worth a shit, wisdom like that, Perseus."

Nivellen sipped some wine. "Well, Fenne quickly tried to make me forget my worries. She was a jolly girl, I tell you. Do you know what she thought up? We'd both frighten unwanted guests. Imagine: a guest like that enters the courtyard, looks around, and then, with a roar, I charge at him on all fours with Fenne, completely naked, sitting on my back and blowing my grandfather's hunting horn!"

Nivellen shook with laughter, the white of his fangs flashing. "Fenne," he continued, "stayed with me for a year, then returned to her family with a huge dowry. She was preparing to marry a tavern owner, a widower."

"Carry on, Nivellen. This is interesting."

"You think so?" said the monster, scratching himself between the ears with a rasping sound.

"All right. The next one, Primula, was the daughter of an impoverished knight. The knight, when he got here, had a skinny horse, a rusty cuirass and incredible debts. He was as hideous as cow dung, I tell you, Perseus, and spread a similar smell. Primula, I'd wager my right hand, was conceived while he was at war, as she was quite pretty. I didn't frighten her either, which isn't surprising, really, as compared to her parent I might have appeared quite comely. She had, as it turned out, quite a temperament and I, having gained some self-confidence, seized the moment by the horns."

"After two weeks Primula and I already had a very close relationship. She liked to pull me by the ears and shout 'Bite me to death, you animal!' and 'Tear me apart, you beast!' and other equally idiotic things. I ran to the mirror in the breaks, but just imagine, Perseus, I looked at myself with growing anxiety. Less and less did I long to return to my former shape. You see, Perseus, I used to be a weakling and now I'd become a strapping fellow. I'd keep getting ill, I'd cough, my nose would run, but now I don't catch anything. And my teeth? You wouldn't believe how rotten my teeth had been! And now? I can bite through the leg of a chair. Do you want me to bite a chair leg?"

Perseus coughed. "No, I don't."

"Maybe that's good." The monster opened his mouth wide. "My showing-off used to amuse the girls and there aren't many whole chairs left in the house." Nivellen yawned, his enormous tongue rolling up into a tube.

"This talking has made me tired, Perseus. Briefly: there were two after Primula, Ilka and Venimira. Everything happened in the same way, to the point of boredom. First, a mixture of fear and reserve, then a thread of sympathy re-enforced by small but precious gifts, then 'Bite me, eat me up', Daddy's return, a tender farewell and an increasingly discernible depletion of the treasury. I decided to take longer breaks to be alone. Of course, I'd long ago stopped believing that a virgin's kiss would transform the way I looked. And I'd come to terms with it. And, what's more, I'd come to the conclusion that things were fine as they were and that there wasn't any need for changes."

"Really? No changes, Nivellen?"

"It's true. I have a horse's health, which came with the way I look, for one. Secondly, my being different works on girls like an aphrodisiac."

Perseus coughed again, stifling a laugh.

"Don't laugh! I'm certain that as a human I'd have to give a mighty good chase to get at a girl like, for example, Venimira, who was an extremely beautiful maid. I don't suppose she'd have glanced twice at the fellow in the portrait. And thirdly: safety. Father had enemies, and a couple of them had survived. People whom the crew, under my pitiful leadership, had sent to their graves, had relatives. There's gold in the cellar. If it wasn't for the fear inspired by me, somebody would come and get it, if only peasants with pitchforks."

"You seem quite sure," Perseus remarked, playing with an empty chalice, "that you haven't offended anyone in your present shape. No father, no daughter. No relative or daughter's betrothed—"

"Leave off, Perseus." Nivellen was indignant. "What are you talking about? The fathers couldn't contain themselves for joy. I told you, I was incredibly generous. And the daughters? You didn't see them when they got here in their dresses of sackcloth, their little hands raw from washing, their shoulders stooped from carrying buckets. Even after two weeks with me Primula still had marks on her back and thighs from the strap her knightly father had beaten her with. They walked around like princesses here, carried nothing but a fan and didn't even know where the kitchen was. I dressed them up and covered them with trinkets. At the click of a finger, I'd conjure up hot water in the tin bath Father had plundered for my mother at Corinth. Can you imagine? A tin bath! There's hardly a regent, what am I saying, hardly a lord who's got a tin bath at home. This was a house from a fairy tale for them, Perseus. And as far as bed is concerned, well . . . Pox on it, virtue is rarer today than a rock dragon. I didn't force any of them, Perseus."

"But you suspected someone had paid me to kill you. Who would have?"

"A scoundrel who wanted the contents of my cellar but didn't have any more daughters," Nivellen said emphatically. "Human greed knows no limits."

"And nobody else?"

'And nobody else."

They both remained silent, gazing at the nervous flicker of the candle flames.

"Nivellen," said the demigod suddenly, "are you alone now?"

'Perseus,' answered the monster after a moment's hesitation, "I think that, in principle, I ought to insult you, take you by the neck and throw you down the stairs. Do you know why? Because you treat me like a dimwit. I noticed how you've been cocking your ears and glancing at the door. You know perfectly well that I don't live alone. Am I right?"

"You are. I'm sorry."

"Pox on your apologies. Have you seen her?"

"Yes. In the forest, by the gate. Is she why merchants and daughters have been leaving here empty-handed for some time?"

"So you know about that too? Yes, she's the reason."

"Do you mind if I ask whether—"

"Yes, I do mind."

Silence again.

"Oh well, it's up to you," the demigod finally said, getting up. "Thanks for your hospitality, dear host. Time I was on my way."

"Quite right." Nivellen also got up. "For certain reasons I can't offer you a room in the manor for the night, and I don't encourage you to spend the night in these woods. Ever since the area's been deserted it's been bad at night here. You ought to get back to the highway before dusk."

"I'll bear that in mind, Nivellen. Are you sure you don't need my help?"

The monster looked at him askance. "You think you could help me? You'd be able to lift this from me?"

"I wasn't only thinking about that sort of help."

"You didn't answer my question. Although . . . you probably did. You wouldn't be able to."

Perseus looked him straight in the eyes. "You had some bad luck," he said. "Of all the temples in Argolis, you picked the temple of Ares, the boar-headed war god. In order to lift the curse thrown by the priestess of Ares, you need knowledge and powers which I don't possess."

"And who does?"

"So you are interested after all? You said things were fine as they are."

"As they are, yes. But not as they might be. I'm afraid that—"

"What are you afraid of?"

The monster stopped at the door to the room and turned. "I've had enough of your questions, demigod, which you keep asking instead of answering mine. Obviously, you've got to be asked in the right way. Listen. For some time now I've had hideous dreams. Maybe the word 'monstrous' would be more accurate. Am I right to be afraid? Briefly, please."

"Have you ever had muddy feet after waking from such a dream? Conifer needles in your sheets?"

"No."

"And have—"

"No. Briefly, please."

"You're rightly afraid."

"Can anything be done about it? Briefly, please."

"No."

"Finally. Let's go, I'll see you out."

In the courtyard, as Perseus was adjusting the saddle-bags, Nivellen stroked the mare's nostrils and patted her neck. Jack, pleased with the caress, lowered her head.

"Animals like me." boasted the monster. "And I like them, too. My cat, Glutton, ran away at the beginning but she came back later. For a long time, she was the only living creature who kept me company in my misfortune. Vereena, too—" He broke off with a grimace.

Perseus smiled victoriously. "Does she like cats too?"

"Birds." Nivellen bared his teeth. "I gave myself away, pox on it. But what's the harm. She isn't another merchant's daughter, Perseus, or another attempt to find a grain of truth in old folk tales. It's serious. We love each other. If you laugh, I'll sock you one."

Perseus didn't laugh, frowning instead. "You know your Vereena," he said, "is probably a rusalka?"

"I suspected as much. Slim. Dark. She rarely speaks, and in a language I don't know. She doesn't eat human food. She disappears into the forest for days on end, then comes back. Is that typical?"

"More or less." The demigod tightened Jack's girth-strap. "No doubt you think she wouldn't return if you were to become human?"

"I'm sure of it. You know how frightened rusalkas are of people. Hardly anybody's seen a rusalka from up close. But Vereena and I . . . Pox on it! Take care, Perseus."

"Take care, Nivellen." The demigod prodded the mare in the side with his heel and made towards the gate. The monster shuffled along at his side.

"Perseus?"

"Yes."

"I'm not as stupid as you think. You came here following the tracks of one of the merchants who'd been here lately. Has something happened to one of them?"

"Yes."

"The last was here three days ago. With his daughter, not one of the prettiest, by the way. I commanded the house to close all its doors and shutters and give no sign of life. They wandered around the courtyard and left. The girl picked a rose from my aunt's rosebush and pinned it to her dress."

Nivellen sighed. "Look for them somewhere else. But be careful, this is a horrible area. I told you that the forest isn't the safest of places at night. Ugly things are heard and seen."

"Thanks, Nivellen. I'll remember about you. Who knows, maybe I'll find someone who—"

"Maybe yes. And maybe no. It's my problem, Perseus, my life and my punishment. I've learnt to put up with it. I've got used to it. If it gets worse, I'll get used to that too. And if it gets far worse don't look for anybody. Come here yourself and put an end to it. As a demigod. Take care, Perseus."

Nivellen turned and marched briskly towards the manor. He didn't look round again.

* * *

The area was deserted, wild and ominously inhospitable. Perseus didn't return to the highway before dusk; he didn't want to take a roundabout route so he took a short-cut through the forest. He spent the night on the bare summit of a high hill, his sword on his knees, beside a tiny campfire into which, every now and then, he threw wisps of nectar. In the middle of the night he noticed the glow of a fire far away in the valley; he heard mad howling and singing and a sound which could only have been the screaming of a tortured woman. When dawn had barely broken he made his way there to find nothing but a trampled glade and charred bones in still-warm ashes. Something sitting in the crown of an enormous oak shrieked and hissed. It could have been a harpy, or an ordinary wildcat. The demigod didn't stop to check.

About midday, while Jack was drinking at a spring, the mare neighed piercingly and backed away, baring her yellow teeth and chewing her bit. Perseus calmed her with his magic. Then he noticed a regular ring formed by the caps of reddish mushrooms peering from the moss.

"You're becoming a real hysteric, Jack," he said. "This is just an ordinary devil's ring. What's the fuss?"

The mare snorted, turning her head towards him. The demigod rubbed his forehead, frowned and grew thoughtful. Then he leapt into the saddle, turned the horse around and started back, following his own tracks.

"Animals like me," he muttered, remembering what Nivellen said. "Sorry, Jack. It turns out you've got more brains than me!"

Soon, he made his way back. Upon reaching, the mare flattened her ears against her skull and snorted, throwing up earth with her hooves; she didn't want to go. Perseus didn't calm her with his gift; he jumped from the saddle and threw the reins over the horse's head. He no longer had his old sword in its lizard-skin sheath on his back; its place was filled with a shining, beautiful weapon with a cruciform and slender, well-weighted hilt, ending in a spherical pommel made of white metal.

This time the gate didn't open for him. It was already open, just as he had left it.

He heard singing. He didn't understand the words; he couldn't even identify the language. He didn't need to – the demigod felt and understood the very nature, the essence, of this quiet, piercing song which flowed through the veins in a wave of nauseous, overpowering menace.

The singing broke off abruptly, and then he saw her.

She was clinging to the back of the dolphin in the dried-up fountain, embracing the moss-overgrown stone with her tiny hands, so pale they seemed transparent. Beneath her storm of tangled black hair shone huge, wide-open eyes the colour of anthracite.

Perseus slowly drew closer, his step soft and springy, tracing a semi-circle from the wall and blue rosebush. The creature glued to the dolphin's back followed him with her eyes, turning her petite face with an expression of longing, and full of charm. He could still hear her song, even though her thin, pale lips were held tight and not the slightest sound emerged from them.

The demigod halted at a distance of ten metres. His sword, slowly drawn from its black enamelled sheath, glistened and glowed above his head.

"It's silver," he said threateningly. "Try anything and I'll cut you down before you can blink."

The pale little face did not flinch, the anthracite eyes did not change expression.

"You're so like a rusalka," the demigod continued calmly, "that you could deceive anyone. All the more as you're a rare bird, black-haired one. But Blackjack is never mistaken. He–"

Perseus grinded his teeth hard, he was referring to his pegasus and friend, Blackjack. Blackjack was dead. This was Jack. Not Blackjack.

If you're wondering why Perseus named a mare with a masculine name, then it's because he didn't realize at the time that Jack was a mare. But the name stuck and he refused to change it.

" _She_ recognises creatures like you instinctively and perfectly. What are you? I think you're a moola, or an alpor. An ordinary vampire couldn't come out in the sun."

The corners of the pale lips quivered and turned up a little.

"Nivellen attracted you with that shape of his, didn't he? You evoked his dreams. I can guess what sort of dreams they were, and I pity him."

The creature didn't move.

"You like birds," continued the demigod. "But that doesn't stop you biting the necks of people of both sexes, does it? You and Nivellen, indeed! A beautiful couple you'd make, a monster and a vampire, rulers of a forest castle. You'd dominate the whole area in a flash. You, eternally thirsty for blood, and he, your guardian, a murderer at your service, a blind tool. But first he had to become a true monster, not a human being in a monster's mask."

The huge black eyes narrowed.

"Where is he? You were singing, so you've drunk some blood. You've taken the ultimate measure, which means you haven't managed to enslave his mind. Am I right?"

The black-tressed head nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and the corners of the mouth turned up even more. The tiny little face took on an eerie expression.

"No doubt you consider yourself the lady of this manor now?"

A nod, this time clearer.

"Are you a moola?"

A slow shake of the head. The hiss which reverberated through his bones could only have come from the pale, ghastly, smiling lips, although the demigod didn't see them move.

"Alpor?"

Denial.

The demigod backed away and clasped the hilt of his sword tighter. "That means you're—"

The corners of the lips started to turn up higher and higher, the lips flew open . . .

"A higher empousai!" the demigod shouted, throwing himself towards the fountain.

From behind the pale lips glistened white, spiky fangs. The empousai jumped up, arched her back like a leopard and screamed.

Before Perseus could do anything, a wave of sound hit him like a battering ram, depriving him of breath, crushing his ribs, piercing his ears and brain with thorns of pain. Flying backwards he smashed into the wall, cracking it. The world grew dark and the remainder of his breath burst from his lungs in a groan.

On the dolphin's back, in the stone circle of the dried-up fountain where a dainty girl in a white dress had sat just a moment ago, a higher empousai stood, with her hair on fire. Her skin was pale and one of her legs was pure Bronze. The other resembled a donkey's leg. Her upper body could be considered beautiful, especially the two ovoid forms on her chest. Sadly her face ruined the image. Fangs protruding from her mouth and her hair on fire.

Perseus shouted and charged at her, sword in hand. The silver blade was meant for such encounters. Empousai, vampires, werewolves and other magically created or cursed beasts needed to be killed by silver. And not just any silver. Olympian silver, given to very few demigods.

The demigod swung his weapon hard at the empousai and cursed when she jumped back. A small cut appeared on her cheek. That attack should have cleaved her in two.

Perseus started getting frustrated. She was too quick. Her razor sharp claws found it's mark on him several times. His coat was in tatters and the boiled leather gambeson was beginning to give away. Another good strike and she would find his bare skin. And empousai claws are coated with deadly poison. He absolutely didn't want to get touched by it.

When she thought his guard was down, the empousai screamed again. The wave of sound knocked the wind out of him and he lost his balance, but he didn't fall.

The empousai's eyes widened in surprise and she snarled. But by the time she did that, Perseus had regained his balance and he covered the distance between them in two long steps. Before she could react, the silver blade was sunk deep into her chest. The empousai looked at the demigod with shock and blood erupted from her chest and mouth.

She smiled. " _This will not kill me, demigod!_ "

Perseus smiled, looking behind her. "No. He will."

Her expression turned to a frown and she barely had time to look behind as she saw Nivellen in all his monster glory charging at her.

Distracted by Nivellen, she failed to notice Perseus unsheathing a silver dagger. Quick as lightning, he slashed it across her neck, severing her head, which fell to the ground with a hiss.

Nivellen, curled up in a bundle, sheltering his head in his arms and shaking with twitches and shivers, was lying in the nettles by the manor wall.

"Get up," said the demigod.

The young, handsome, well-built man with a pale complexion lying by the wall raised his head and looked around. His eyes were vague. He rubbed them with his knuckles. He looked at his hands, felt his face. He moaned quietly and, putting his finger in his mouth, ran it along his gums for a long time. He grasped his face again and moaned as he touched the four bloody, swollen streaks on his cheek. He burst out sobbing, then laughed.

"Perseus! How come? How did this— Perseus!"

"Get up, Nivellen. Get up and come along. I've got some medicine in my saddle-bags. We both need it."

"I've no longer got . . . I haven't, have I? Perseus? Why?"

The demigod helped him get up, trying not to look at the tiny hands – so pale as to be transparent – clenched around the sword stuck between the small breasts which were now plastered with a wet red fabric.

Nivellen moaned again. "Vereena—"

"Don't look. Let's go."

They crossed the courtyard, holding each other up, and passed the blue rosebush.

Nivellen kept touching his face with his free hand. "Incredible, Perseus. After so many years? How's it possible?"

"There's a grain of truth in every fairy tale," said the demigod quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and philosophers have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that—"

"That what, Perseus?"

"It has to be true love."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **So guys?  
** **How'd you like it? Was it good? Bad? Whatever the case, please review!  
** **And feel free to give me any ideas you think are relevant. Or any improvements.**


	2. King's Contract

( _Near Delos_ )

A lone ship lazily moved across the water. It's destination seemed to be towards the land mass called Delos, which could be seen in the distance.

The barge held one of the most important persons in the whole of Greece. It was the King of Crete, and Sovereign of Delos, who was on a yearly visit to Delos at this time of year.

The King of Crete was nothing impressive. He was old, bald and fat. He held a glass of wine which he sipped continuously, laughing as he watched two jesters fool around in front of him.

Beside the King stood a middle aged man in orange robes. He was vigilant and stood cautiously. He was a mage. A sorcerer. Nowadays, all the kings in Greece had some or the other mage as their royal advisor. And the Kings didn't object, because only the elite mages became their advisors, and elite mages meant better protection.

The joyous festivities on the barge came to a quick end, however, when the sky rumbled. The mage was the first one to look up, and his eyes widened and he immediately raised his arms in the air.

An orange yellow layer materialized out of existence and surrounded the King and himself in a large sphere. The next second, the barge shook and groaned as the magic shield was shattered by lightning. The sound deafened the soldiers and their ears bled.

It was pandemonium. An archer yelled as he pointed to the deck. A man had appeared. Though you wouldn't call him a man. His build was large and his muscles bulged like a panther's. He was bald, with the scar of a lightning bolt on his scalp.

He had two short swords in his hands, both of which were surrounded by an aura of pure lightning.

The mage gasped as he realized _what_ exactly he was facing. A demigod. A son of Zeus to be exact.

The soldiers protecting the King had no time to react as the demigod rushed past them, slashing his swords at their necks. The archer on the top deck fired an arrow, but the demigod raised one sword and split the arrow down the middle, continuing forward. He threw one blade straight at the archer. The blade sank hilt deep in the archer's neck, drawing out a waterfall of blood.

Without stopping, the demigod killed the remaining two guards and rushed at the mage. It was clear that this demigod was experienced. He knew how to fight a mage. He slashed the sorcerer's face before he could utter a single spell or move his arms. While the mage was down, the demigod crushed his skull under his foot.

All that was left now was the King. It was a pitiful affair as the demigod dragged the King back on deck after the King tried to jump overboard. Sending him on his knees, the demigod sliced the King's head clean off with a single swipe.

But by then the barge had neared the island of Delos, and by the time the demigod attached the King's head to his belt, several dozen volleys of arrows flew through the air straight at him.

The demigod concentrated, and a fair number of arrows fell mid-air, allowing him to leap into the air and dive underwater.

* * *

( _Sparta_ )

Perseus entered the city through the North Gate, and the stench that came with big cities hit him hard. Scrunching his nose, he walked along the various establishments.

He stopped in front of the usual inn, stood there for a moment, listened to the hubbub of voices. As usual at this hour, it was full of people. After all, it was the most popular inn in Sparta.

The demigod did not enter the usual inn. He pulled his horse further down the street to another tavern, a smaller one, called The Fox. Not enjoying the best of reputations, it was almost empty.

The innkeeper raised his head above a barrel of pickled cucumbers and measured the man with his gaze. The demigod, still in his long black coat, stood stiffly in front of the counter, motionless and silent.

"What will it be?"

"Whiskey," said the demigod. His accent was different from Spartan.

The innkeeper wiped his hands on his canvas apron and filled a chipped earthenware tankard.

The demigod wasn"t old. He looked young, in his early twenties, but his eyes shone with intelligence, suggesting he was older than he looked. Beneath his coat he wore a worn leather jerkin laced up at the neck and shoulders.

As he took off his coat those around him noticed that he carried a sword – not something unusual in itself, nearly every man in Sparta carried a weapon – but no one carried a sword strapped to his back as if it were a bow or a quiver.

The demigod did not sit at the table with the few other guests. He remained standing at the counter, piercing the innkeeper with his gaze. He drew from the tankard.

"I"m looking for a room for the night."

"There's none," grunted the innkeeper, looking at the guest's boots, dusty and dirty. "Ask at the Old Narakort."

"I would rather stay here."

"There is none." The innkeeper finally recognised the stranger's accent. He was Corinthian.

Perseus stared at the innkeeper. "I'll pay."

The demigod heard footsteps approach from behind. He didn't turn around.

"Didn't you hear right?! Get out of here you filthy Corinthian! We don't need beggars like you in Sparta!"

The innkeeper gulped and watched without interfering. No one liked Corinth or it's inhabitants anyway. And the statement wasn't entirely false. With Corinth razed to the ground, most of the survivors hoarded in the neighbouring states as refugees, or they stooped to banditry. What was the point of defending a beggar or a bandit?

Perseus glanced back but didn't reply.

"All Corinthians are thieves," the man went on, his breath smelling of beer, garlic and anger. "Do you hear me, you bastard?"

"He can't hear you. His ears are full of shit," said one of the men with him, and the second man cackled.

"Pay and leave!" yelled the pocked man.

Only now did Perseus look at him.

"I'll finish my whiskey."

"We'll give you a hand," the man hissed. He knocked the tankard from the demigod's hand, and simultaneously grabbing him by the shoulder, dug his fingers into the leather strap which ran diagonally across the demigod's chest. One of the men behind him raised a fist to strike. The outsider demigod up on the spot, throwing the man off balance.

The second man shouted and tried to push the demigod to the ground. Easier said than done however. Spinning in a fancy fashion, Perseus swung his leg towards the man, sending him crashing to the floor.

The first man yelled obscenities and grabbed a club which was attached to his waist. He swung the club hard at the demigod, who ducked deftly under it and delivered two quick punches to his sternum and throat, knocking him out efficiently.

When the rest of the tavern stood up and unsheathed their weapons, Perseus did the same. A beautiful, thin sword with an ornate hilt hissed through the air, aimed at his attackers.

Three guards rushed into the tavern with thuds and clangs. They must have been close by. They had truncheons wound with leather straps at the ready, but at the sight of the unconscious men, drew their swords. The demigod pressed his back against the wall and, with his left hand, pulled a dagger from his boot.

"Throw that down!" one of the guards yelled with a trembling voice. "Throw that down, you thug! You're coming with us!"

The second guard kicked aside the table between himself and the demigod.

"Go get the men, Treska!" he shouted to the third guard, who had stayed closer to the door.

"No need," said the demigod, lowering his sword. "I'll come by myself."

"You'll go, you son of a bitch, on the end of a rope!" yelled the trembling guard. "Throw that sword down or I'll smash your head in!"

Before Perseus could say anything, another officer entered the tavern. This one was covered in steel plate. This was no mere city guard. He was probably a high-ranking knight, Perseus guessed.

"You would be wise to lower your weapon, demigod. The King wants to see you."

Perseus raised an eyebrow but complied. Nothing much he could do when the second most influential person in Sparta summoned him. He wondered if it had anything to do with the contract he was to undertake.

* * *

Perseus stood corrected. The King had summoned him for that very specific purpose, and curiously, he wasn't present.

He was instead face to face with the castellan of Sparta.

Valence, castellan of Sparta, scratched his chin. He was neither superstitious nor faint-hearted but he did not relish the thought of being alone with the raven-haired man. At last he made up his mind.

"Leave," he ordered the guards. "And you, sit down. No, not there. Further away, if you please."

The demigod sat down. He no longer carried his sword or black coat.

"I am Valence, castellan of Sparta," said Valence, toying with a heavy mace lying on the table. "And I'm listening. What do you have to say to me, you brigand, before you are thrown into the dungeon? Three injured and weapon wielding in a tavern; not bad, not bad at all. Men are impaled for such things in Sparta. But I'm a just man, so I will listen to you, before you are executed. Speak."

The Demigod unbuttoned his jerkin and pulled out a wad of white goat leather.

"You nail this in crossways, in taverns," he said quietly. "Is what's written here true?"

"Ah." Valence grunted, looking at the runes etched into the leather. "So that's it. And I didn't guess at once. Yes, it's true. It's signed by Leonidas, King of Sparta, Argos and Mycenae, which makes it true. A proclamation is a proclamation, demigod, but law is law – and I take care of law and order in Sparta. I will not allow citizens to be harassed! Do you understand?"

"And do you have a name? Any name will do, it's simply to make conversation easier."

"My name is Perseus."

"Perseus, then. Of Corinth I gather, from your accent?"

"Of Corinth."

"Right. Do you know what, Perseus? This," Valence slapped the proclamation, "let it go. It's a serious matter. Many have tried and failed already. This, my friend, is not the same as roughing up a couple of scoundrels."

"I know. This is my job, Valence. And that proclamation offers a three thousand drachma reward."

"Three thousand," Valence scowled. "And the princess as a wife, or so rumour says, although gracious Leonidas has not proclaimed that."

"I'm not interested in the princess," Perseus said calmly. He was sitting motionless, his hands on his knees. "Just in the three thousand."

"What times," sighed the castellan. "What foul times! A thousand years ago who would have thought, even in a drunken stupour, that such a profession as a demigod would exist? Itinerant killers of basilisks; travelling slayers of dragons and griffins! Tell me, Perseus, are you allowed beer in your guild?"

"Certainly.", Perseus said. What kind of question was that?

Valence clapped his hands.

"Beer!" he called. "And sit closer, Perseus. What do I care?"

The beer, when it arrived, was cold and frothy.

"Foul times," Valence muttered, drinking deep from his tankard. "All sorts of filth has sprung up. Megara, in the mountains, is teeming with bogeymen. In the past it was just wolves howling in the woods, but now it's kobolds and spriggans wherever you spit, werewolves or some other vermin. Fairies and rusalkas snatch children from villages by the hundreds. We have diseases never heard of before; it makes my hair stand on end. And now, to top it all, this!" He pushed the wad of leather back across the table. "It's not surprising, Perseus, that you demigod" services are in demand."

"The king's proclamation, castellan," Perseus raised his head. "Do you know the details?"

Valence leant back in his chair, locked his hands over his stomach.

"The details? Yes, I know them. Not first-hand perhaps, but from a good source."

"That's what I want."

"If you insist, then listen." Valence drank some beer and lowered his voice. "During the reign of old Peleus, his father, when our gracious king was still a prince, Leonidas showed us what he was capable of, and he was capable of a great deal. We hoped he would grow out of it. But shortly after his coronation Leonidas surpassed himself, jaw-droppingly: he got his own sister with child. Gorgo was younger and they were always together, but nobody suspected anything except, perhaps, the queen . . . To get to the point: suddenly there is Gorgo with a huge belly, and Leonidas talking about getting wed to his sister. The situation was made even more tense because Phillip of Amphipolis wanted his daughter, Dalka, to marry Leonidas and had already sent out his envoys. We had to restrain Leonidas from insulting them, and lucky we did, or Phillip would have torn our insides out. Then, not without Gorgo's help – for she influenced her brother – we managed to dissuade the boy from a quick wedding."

"Well, then Gorgo gave birth. And now listen, because this is where it all starts. Only a few saw what she bore, but one midwife jumped from the tower window to her death and the other lost her senses and remains dazed to this day. So I gather that the royal bastard – a girl – was not comely, and she died immediately. No one was in a hurry to tie the umbilical cord. Nor did Gorgo, to her good fortune, survive the birth."

"But then Leonidas stepped in again. Wisdom dictated that the royal bastard should have been burned or buried in the wilderness. Instead, on the orders of our gracious king, she was laid to rest in a sarcophagus in the vaults beneath the palace."

"It's too late for your wisdom now.' Perseus raised his head. "One of the Oracles should have been sent for."

"You mean those charlatans with stars on their hats? Of course. About ten of them came running later, when it became known what lay in the sarcophagus. And what scrambled out of it at night. Though it didn't start manifesting straight away. Oh, no. For seven years after the funeral there was peace. Then one night – it was a full moon – there were screams in the palace, shouting and commotion! I don't have to tell you, this is your trade and you've read the proclamation. The infant had grown in the coffin – and how! – grown to have incredible teeth! In a word, she became a striga."

"Pity you didn't see the corpses, as I did. Had you, you'd have taken a great detour to avoid Sparta."

Perseus was silent. Strigas were some of the most dangerous monsters to roam the lands. However, they were so rare that it didn't matter most of the time. But one to take up residence in the royal palace of Sparta? Troubling news indeed.

"Then, as I was saying," Valence continued, "Leonidas summoned a whole crowd of sorcerers. They all jabbered at the same time and almost came to blows with those staffs they carry – to beat off the dogs, no doubt, once they've been set loose on them. And I think they regularly are. I'm sorry, Perseus, if you have a different opinion of wizards. No doubt you do, in your profession, but to me they are swindlers and fools. You demigods inspire greater confidence in men. At least you are more straightforward."

Perseus smiled, but didn't comment.

"But, to the point." The castellan peered into his tankard and poured more beer for himself and the Corinthian. "Some of the sorcerers' advice didn't seem so stupid. One suggested burning the striga together with the palace and the sarcophagus. Another advised chopping her head off. The rest were keen on driving aspen stakes into her body during the day, when the she-devil was asleep in her coffin, worn out by her night's delights. Unfortunately one, a jester with a pointed hat and a bald pate, a hunch-backed hermit, argued it was magic: the spell could be undone and the striga would turn into Leonidas's little daughter, as pretty as a picture. Someone simply had to stay in the crypt throughout the night, and that would be that. After which – can you imagine such a fool? – he went to the palace for the night. Little of him was left in the morning, only, I believe, his hat and stick. But Leonidas clung to his idea like a burr to a dog's tail. He forbade any attempt to kill the striga and brought in charlatans from all corners of Sparta to reverse the spell and turn her into a princess. What colourful company! Twisted women, cripples, dirty and louse-ridden. It was pitiful."

"They went ahead and cast spells – mainly over a bowl and tankard. Of course some were quickly exposed as frauds by Leonidas or the council. A few were even hung on the palisades, but not enough of them. I would have hung them all. I don't suppose I have to say that the striga, in the meantime, was getting her teeth into all sorts of people every now and again and paying no attention to the fraudsters and their spells. Or that Leonidas was no longer living in the palace. No one lived there anymore."

Valence paused, drank some beer, and the demigod waited in silence.

"And so it's been for seven years, Perseus, because she was born around fourteen years ago. We've had a few other worries, like war with Phillip of Amphipolis – fought for real, understandable reasons – over the border posts, not for some princess or marriage alliance. Leonidas sporadically hints at marriage and looks over portraits from neighbouring courts, which he then throws down the privy. And every now and then this mania seizes hold of him again, and he sends horsemen out to look for new sorcerers. His promised reward, the three thousand, has attracted any number of cranks, stray knights, even a shepherd known throughout the whole region as a cretin, may he rest in peace. But the striga is still doing well. Every now and again she gets her teeth into someone. You get used to it. And at least those heroes trying to reverse the spell have a use – the beast stuffs herself on the spot and doesn't roam beyond her palace. Leonidas has a new palace, of course, quite a fine one."

"In seven years," Perseus raised his eyebrows in surprise, "in seven years, no one has settled the matter?"

"Well, no." Valence's gaze penetrated the demigod. "Because the matter can't be settled. We have to come to terms with it, especially Leonidas, our gracious and beloved ruler, who will keep nailing these proclamations up at crossroads. Although there are fewer volunteers now. There was one recently, but he insisted on the three thousand in advance. So we put him in a sack and threw him in the lake."

"There is still no shortage of fraudsters then."

"No, far from it," the castellan agreed without taking his eyes off the demigod. "That's why you mustn't demand gold in advance when you go to the palace. If you go."

"I'll go."

"It's up to you. But remember my advice. As we're talking of the reward, there has been word recently about the second part of it. I mentioned it to you: the princess for a wife. I don't know who made it up, but if the striga looks the way they say then it's an exceptionally grim joke. Nevertheless there's been no lack of fools racing to the palace for the chance of joining the royal family. Two apprentice shoemakers, to be precise. Why are shoemakers so foolish, Perseus?"

"I don't know. And demigods, castellan? Have they tried?"

"There were a few. But when they heard the spell was to be lifted and the striga wasn't to be killed they mostly shrugged and left. That's one of the reasons why my esteem for demigods has grown, Perseus. And one came along, younger than you – I forget his name, if he gave it at all. He tried."

"And?"

"The fanged princess spread his entrails over a considerable distance."

Perseus nodded. "That was all of them?"

"There was one other."

Valence remained silent for a while, and the demigod didn't urge him on.

"Yes," the castellan said finally. "There was one more. At first, when Leonidas threatened him with the noose if he killed or harmed the striga, he laughed and started packing his belongings. But then—' Valence leaned across the table, lowered his voice to almost a whisper. '—then he undertook the task. You see, Perseus, there are some wise men in Sparta, in high positions, who've had enough of this whole affair. Rumour has it these men persuaded the demigod, in secret, not to fuss around with spells but to batter the striga to death and tell the king the spell had failed, that his dear daughter had been killed in self-defence – an accident at work. The king, of course, would be furious and refuse to pay a single copper in reward. But that would be an end to it. The witty demigod replied we could chase strigas ourselves for nothing. Well, what could we do? We collected money, bargained . . . but nothing came of it."

Perseus raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing," repeated Valence. "The demigod didn't want to try that first night. He trudged around, lay in wait, wandered about the neighbourhood. Finally, they say, he saw the striga in action, as she does not clamber from her crypt just to stretch her legs. He saw her and scarpered that night. Without a word."

Perseus's expression changed a little, in what was probably supposed to be a smile.

"Those wise men," he said, "they still have the money, no doubt? Demigods don't take payment in advance."

"No doubt they still do," said Valence.

"Does the rumour say how much they offer?"

Valence bared his teeth in a smile. "Some say eight hundred—"

Perseus shook his head.

"Others," murmured the castellan, "talk of a thousand."

"Not much when you bear in mind that rumour likes to exaggerate. And the king is offering three thousand."

"Don't forget about the betrothal," Valence mocked. "What are you talking about? It's obvious you won't get the three thousand."

"How's it obvious?"

Valence thumped the table. "Perseus, do not spoil my impression of demigods! This has been going on for more than seven years! The striga is finishing off up to fifty people a year, fewer now people are avoiding the palace. Oh no, my friend, I believe in magic. I've seen a great deal and I believe, to a certain extent, in the abilities of wizards and demigods. But all this nonsense about lifting the spell was made up by a hunch-backed, snotty old man who'd lost his mind on his hermit's diet. It's nonsense which no one but Leonidas believes. Gorgo gave birth to a striga because she slept with her brother. That is the truth, and no spell will help. Now the striga devours people – as strigas do – she has to be killed, and that is that."

"Which way to the palace, the new one?"

"I will take you myself. And what about the wise men's suggestion?"

"Castellan," said Perseus, "why act in haste? After all, I really could have an accident at work, irrespective of my intentions. Just in case, the wise men should be thinking about how to save me from the king's anger and get those fifteen hundred drachmas, of which rumour speaks, ready."

"It was to be a thousand."

"No, Lord Valence," the demigod said. "The demigod who was offered a thousand ran at the mere sight of the striga, without bargaining. So the risk is greater than a thousand. Whether it is greater than one and a half remains to be seen."

"Perseus?" Valence scratched his head. "One thousand two hundred?"

"No. This isn't an easy task. The king is offering three, and sometimes it's easier to lift a spell than to kill. But one of my predecessors would have done so, or killed the striga, if this were simple. You think they let themselves be devoured out of fear of the king?"

'Then, demigod,' Valence nodded wistfully, 'our agreement stands. But a word of advice – say nothing to the king about the danger of an accident at work.'

And he didn't.

Perseus had to admit that his first impression of the King of Sparta wasn't very good. He had of course heard much about Leonidas, supposedly a hero. A survivor among three hundred Spartans who held the Hot Gates in the Battle of Thermopylae for a few days against insurmountable odds of more than a hundred thousand Persian invaders.

Of course, what most people forget is that there a couple dozen mages present as well. Mages were humans or (very rarely) demigods who had learnt to harness the power of magic. They obliterated the Persian army, and only one mage survived. Medea, who was now the royal advisor to Phillip II, ruler of Macedon.

The heroics of the martyrs allowed other mages to obtain positions of high power in the various city-states of Greece. Medea, for example. Circe, a sorceress and daughter of Hecate was the royal advisor and Prime Minister of entire Attica region.

There were others Perseus could name. But the point was that the other mages merely took advantage of the sacrifice that more than twenty had given to protect Greece from invaders. Within two years, the mages had the entirety of Greece under their hold, even going as far as to establish a Conclave of Mages, which included all the influential mages from all of Greece. Now, it had been almost thirty years since the fateful Battle of Thermopylae.

With mages present, most of the wars between the city-states ceased quickly, and usually bloodily. That also meant that some city-states prominent for their powerful military, like Sparta, weren't so disciplined anymore. Sparta became like any other city-state. Castles were built and trade was done freely.

That's why Perseus was not so surprised when he saw that Leonidas, the King of Sparta was fat. Yes. The King of Sparta was fat. Not so fat that he couldn't walk or fight, but he was definitely no longer the same man he was. He had lost most of the shape he had during the Battle of Thermopylae.

"A demigod from Corinth," said the king after the moment's silence which fell after Valence's introduction.

"Yes, your Majesty." Perseus lowered his head.

"You've had a fair amount of experience, I dare presume?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"I would love to hear about it."

Perseus bowed even lower. "Your Majesty, you know our code of practice forbids us to speak of our work."

"A convenient code, demigod, very convenient. But tell me, have you had anything to do with griffins?"

"Yes."

"Empousai, Cyclops, Hellhounds, Vampires, leshys?"

"Those too."

Leonidas hesitated. "Strigas?"

Perseus raised his head, looking the king in the eyes. "Yes."

"Ha. Valence? Have you given him the details?"

"Yes, Your Gracious Majesty. He says the spell can be reversed."

Leonidas waved aside Valence. "I've known that a long time.". The King then looked towards Perseus. "But how is the spell reversed, demigod? Ah, I forget, your convenient code. All right. I will give you a warning. Several demigods have been here before you, so I know your specialty is to kill, not lift spells. Harm even one hair on my daughter's head, and your own will be on the block."

"Valence, give the demigod a room to stay and food to eat. He is not to drift from tavern to tavern. Folk are restless enough as it is. No need to let them know a demigod has come to the city."

One would think that being the children of the gods meant demigods should command far more respect than mages, right? Wrong. There was a growing discontent among the people for demigods in general, and the demigods had only themselves to blame.

Most demigods didn't fit into society well. But they all possessed one ability almost no one else had. Monster killing. Because of this, most demigods see fit to do just that. Greece, like any other part of the world, was infested with monsters of all kinds. A demigod would kill these monsters in exchange for coin.

It's not correct to call them demigods either. More than ninety five percent of 'demigods' are in fact legacies. Children and in most cases, grandchildren of demigods. Real demigods were few and far in between, like Perseus, who happened to be the only living child of Poseidon. In fact, there were probably no more than ten actual demigods who were living.

Mages, upon seeing the potential demigods had, quickly tried to discourage the common folk. The best way to do it was to harm the worship of the gods. And the best way to do that was to introduce a new cult. Perseus didn't remember the name of that cult, but he did know they worshipped some dumbass called the 'Lord of Light'.

The result was quick and the effect was almost instantaneous. In a decade, most people abandoned worship of the Olympians. Based on previous events, Perseus thought Zeus and Poseidon would flood the whole world again, but nothing of the sort happened. In fact, there was no indication that the Olympians even cared. This led many of the common folk to believe that the Olympians truly didn't exist.

Now three decades after the Battle of Thermopylae, demigods were still called demigods purely because they were physically superior to humans in every way imaginable. Of course, they were hurled other names as well, such as 'freak!', or 'blasphemous filth!', because demigods either still worshipped the Olympians, or they outright rebutted the 'Lord of Light'. Basically, they weren't very popular anymore, and most people disliked them, but they stuck around because people needed them to kill monsters and they needed money.

Perseus knew that the demigods could have saved their culture and retained the worship of the gods. But as a principle, demigods never interfered in other matters. They killed monsters, collected their pay, and moved on. That's it. That's what Perseus had been taught as well, and he wasn't about to abandon Chiron's teachings.

The king rose, whistled to his dogs and made his way to the door, scattering the straw covering the chamber floor. At the door he paused.

"If you succeed, demigod, the reward is yours. Maybe I will add something if you do well. Of course, the nonsense spread by common folk about marrying the princess carries not a word of truth. I'm sure you don't believe I would give my daughter's hand to a stranger?"

"No, your Majesty. I don't."

"Good. That shows you have some wisdom."

Leonidas left, closing the door behind him. Valence and the magnate, who had been standing all the while, immediately sat at the table. The castellan finished the king's half-full cup, peered into the jug and cursed. Ostrit, who took Leonidas's chair, scowled at the demigod while he stroked the carved armrests. Segelin, the bearded man, nodded at Perseus.

"Do sit, demigod, do sit. Supper will soon be served. What would you like to know? Castellan Valence has probably already told you everything. I know him, he has sooner told you too much than too little."

"Only a few questions."

"Ask."

"The castellan said that, after the striga's appearance, the king called up many Oracles."

"That's right. But don't say striga, say princess. It makes it easier to avoid making a mistake in the king's presence – and any consequent unpleasantness."

"Was there anyone well-known among the Oracles? Anyone famous?"

"There were such, then and later. I don't remember the names. Do you, Lord Ostrit?"

"I don't recall," said the magnate. "But I know some of them enjoyed fame and recognition. There was much talk of it."

"Were they in agreement that the spell can be lifted?"

"They were far from any agreement," smiled Segelin, "on any subject. But such an opinion was expressed. It was supposed to be simple, not even requiring magical abilities. As I understand it, it would suffice for someone to spend the night – from sunset to the third crowing of the cock – by the sarcophagus."

"Simple indeed," snorted Valence.

"I would like to hear a description of the . . . the princess."

Valence leapt up from his chair. "The princess looks like a striga!" he yelled. "Like the most strigish striga I have heard of! Her Royal Highness, the cursed royal bastard, is four feet high, shaped like a barrel of beer, has a maw which stretches from ear to ear and is full of dagger-like teeth, has red eyes and a red mop of hair! Her paws, with claws like a wild cat's, hang down to the ground! I'm surprised we've yet to send her likeness to friendly courts! The princess, plague choke her, is already fourteen. Time to think of giving her hand to a prince in marriage!"

"Hold on, Valence," frowned Ostrit, glancing at the door, afraid the king might have heard it. Segelin smiled faintly.

"The description, although vivid, is reasonably accurate, and that's what you wanted, isn't it, demigod? Valence didn't mention that the princess moves with incredible speed and is far stronger for her height and build than one would expect. And she is fourteen years old, if that is of any importance."

"It is," said the demigod. The older the monster, the stronger it was. That's how it generally worked. "Do the attacks on people only occur during the full moon?"

"Yes," replied Segelin, "if she attacks beyond the old palace. Within the palace walls people always die, irrespective of the moon's phase. But she only ventures out during the full moon, and not always then."

Hmm. Perseus thought. That meant that the while the striga was incredibly strong and quick at night, it was weakened considerably during the day. Not much use though since Leonidas wanted his daughter alive.

"Has there been even one attack during the day?"

"No."

"Does she always devour her victims?"

Valence spat vehemently on the straw.

"Come on, Perseus, it'll be supper soon. Devours, takes a bite, leaves aside, it varies – according to her mood, no doubt. She only bit the head from one, gutted a couple, and a few more she picked clean to the bone, sucked them dry, you could say. Damned mother's—!"

"Careful, Valence," snarled Ostrit. "Say what you want about the striga but do not insult Gorgo in front of me, as you would not dare in the king's presence!"

"Has anyone she's attacked survived?" The demigod asked, apparently paying no special attention to the magnate's outburst, which he actually found interesting. Perseus rarely missed these subtle behaviours.

Segelin and Ostrit looked at each other.

"Yes," said the bearded man. "At the very beginning, seven years ago, she threw herself at two soldiers standing guard over the crypt. One escaped—"

"And then," interrupted Valence, "there was another, the miller she attacked near the town. You remember . . . ?"

* * *

( _Mycenae-Athens Border_ )

The Mycenae Athens border was one of the most dangerous areas in the Attica region of the Greek peninsula. Devoid of human life and without demigods to cull the monsters, they bred exponentially.

The only other beings living in those forests were nature spirits. Nymphs, dryads, naiads, satyrs, etc. Contrary to popular belief, nature spirits didn't actually need to be near their life force to survive. That's why they thrived in human cities.

Once the pride of civilization, these beings became outcasts along with demigods when humans turned their back on the gods, choosing instead to follow a different god. But unlike demigods, these nymphs and dryads weren't needed. Humans saw them as freaks and abominations. The once irresistible nymphs were relentlessly hunted and killed. Burnt on the stake or impaled on the city gates, it didn't matter. Their skin colour and the shape of their ears ensured they would never again be safe within human settlements.

They fled into the forests. Their home. They returned to their roots. But the kind hearted spirits who helped humans grew bitter. Years of persecution and relentless killings made them vengeful. It didn't take much, only a few words and a rallying cry. The youth among them became freedom fighters, although it could be argued that they were nothing but glorified terrorists. They called themselves The Symphora, which meant calamity.

Though they didn't venture out of their forests anymore, the Symphora grew extremely hostile towards humans, going so far as to cut down even berry pickers and butterfly chasers. Any human who dared enter the forests were killed.

The dryads who could accurately fire arrows up to a thousand metres, or Satyrs and nymphs, who had their own advantages. It ensured that nothing short of a human army could hope to defeat them.

The Mycenae-Athens border was different from other Symphora inhabited lands. For in this area lived the most dangerous and most feared group of Symphora. They were more vicious and much more violent and brutal than the other Symphora. Apart from which were various monsters and traps.

The leader of this particular group of Symphora stood tall as she gazed upon the clearing in her forest from above. She had clear skin the colour of milk and had dark black eyes. She stood tall, taller than most men and was dressed in forest garb made out of the pelts of dangerous monsters she had killed. She would have looked like any human, if you didn't notice her ears, which were pointed instead of round. Her face was slim and longer than a human's. She was a nymph.

She held a beautiful bow made with intricate designs on the handle. She fingered the string for a moment, before she turned around, facing an ugly sight. A telekhine lay unconscious on the ground a few feet from her. She walked up to it, uncorking a vial as she did, scrunching up her nose at the smell. She forced the telekhine to inhale the vial, which woke it up instantly.

The telekhine writhed, but the nymph grabbed it by the scruff of it's neck, dragging it towards the edge of the small height above the clearing. Without much effort, she tossed the telekhine onto the clearing and walked off. Sooner or later, the monster would come out and feed on the meal she had given it.

The nymph smirked when she heard a roar in the distance. She turned around and walked off towards her cave. Her hideout. As she entered the cave, she unstrapped the bow from behind her back, placing it on a makeshift worktable. On it were several other items. Maps, potions and various other items, including a curved sword.

She suddenly turned around, grabbing her curved sword and made her way towards the middle of the cave. She had heard something. Footsteps. She creeped towards the source, and pressed her back to the wall as she moved silently.

"Sheathe your sword nymph. I'm here to talk.", a voice said. It was deep and had an unnatural accent to it, very slightly Persian.

The nymph revealed herself, pointing her sword at the man. His armour was nothing but a small leather breastplate, which didn't even have sleeves. He held no weapon, but that wasn't the striking part. He was huge for a man. His biceps would have been larger than the thigh of an ordinary man, and the rest of his body was equally large, bulging with pure muscle. He seemed to be stirring soup in a cauldron.

The man pointed in front of him with his spoon, and the nymph's eyes widened in surprise. It was a head. Not just any human head but a king's head. The crown still present.

"Bow low.", the man said. "You stand before a head crowned. That of Catreus, King of the Crete isles, by the grace of the gods, Sovereign of Delos and so on."

The nymph stared at the man with curiosity and hesitance. "And you are?"

The man didn't get up. "A friend to nonhumans. I have an offer."

The nymph narrowed her eyes. "Speak. Quickly and to the point. The Chimera will soon return and I'd rather know all before then."

"I can add several more heads to this one.", the man said, motioning to the king's head in front of him. "Each crowned."

The nymph lowered her sword ever so slightly. "Go on."

"Leonidas to start with. I barely escaped in Delos. I'll need help. Access to your hideouts and maps of your secret trails … And the support of the Symphora. I want no gold and have no interest in a killer's fame.", he added.

The nymph frowned. "Then why do you wish them dead?", she questioned.

The man sighed. "It's a long story", he said. He then seemed to hear something, even though the nymph heard nothing. "Your beast's grabbed his telekhine. Time to go."

He stood up finally, and looked at the nymph straight in the eye. "Do we have a deal, Zoe Nightshade?"

The nymph's eyes widened. This … was no man. As he asked her his question, his eyes sparked and whitish blue electricity spread over his palm. He was a demigod. Undoubtedly. And not just any demigod. A son of Zeus.


	3. Hunt of the Striga

( _Sparta_ )

The next day, late in the evening, the miller who had survived the striga attack was brought to Perseus, who was staying in a small chamber above the guardhouse. It was a decent room and was certainly more than the demigod could have asked for.

Perseus rubbed his head in frustration as he listened to the terrified miller. The man was completely broken by the attack and it was quite clear that the memory haunted him. His scars told Perseus more about the striga than he did.

Perseus noted the scars on the man's legs. Judging by the depth of the wound, the demigod guessed that the striga grabbed his leg by the middle portion of her teeth, which meant that her jaw was wide enough to swallow a whole leg. Though the attack was seven years ago, the miller's scar looked like it had formed yesterday. The wound must have been very deep, so naturally her teeth were very sharp as well.

Having finished examining the miller, Perseus nodded at the guard, and the guard pushed the peasant out of the door. Another hooded man walked inside, and Perseus thought he might be one of the witnesses, until his hood came off. It was Leonidas himself.

The demigod started to get up, but the King raised his hand. "Sit. Don't get up. This visit is unofficial. Are you happy with the interview? I heard you were at the palace this morning."

"Yes, your Majesty.", the demigod said.

"When will you set about your task?"

"It is a week until the full moon. Only after that."

"You prefer to have a look at her yourself beforehand?"

"There is no need. But having had her fill the— the princess will be less active."

"Striga, master Perseus, striga. Let us not play at diplomacy. She will be a princess afterwards. And that is what I have come to talk about. Answer me unofficially, briefly and clearly: will it work or not? Don't hide behind your code."

Perseus rubbed his brow. He wasn't used to dealing with kings who actually cared about their family this much. Leonidas was hell bent on getting the spell reversed.

"I confirm, your Majesty, that the spell might be reversed. And, unless I am mistaken, it can be done by spending the night at the palace. The third crowing of the cock, as long as it catches the striga outside her sarcophagus, will end the spell. That is what is usually done with strigas."

"So simple?"

"It is not simple. First you have to survive the night. Then there are exceptions to the rule, for example, not one night but three. Consecutively. There are also cases which are . . . well . . . hopeless."

"Yes," Leonidas bristled. "I keep hearing that from some people. Kill the monster because it's an incurable case. Master Perseus, I am sure they have already spoken to you. Am I right? Hack the man-eater to death without any more fuss, at the beginning, and tell the king nothing else could be done. I won't pay, but they will. Very convenient. And cheap. Because the king will order the demigod beheaded or hanged and the gold will remain in their pockets."

"The king unconditionally orders the demigod to be beheaded?" Perseus grimaced.

Leonidas looked the Corinthian in the eyes for a long while.

"The king does not know," he finally said. "But the demigod should bear such an eventuality in mind."

Perseus was silent for a moment. "I intend to do what is in my power,' he said. 'But if it goes badly I will defend my life. Your Majesty, you must also be prepared for such an eventuality."

Leonidas got up. "You do not understand me. It's obvious you'll kill her if it becomes necessary, whether I like it or not. Because otherwise she'll kill you, surely and inevitably. I won't punish anyone who kills her in self-defence. But I will not allow her to be killed without trying to save her. There have already been attempts to set fire to the old palace. They shot at her with arrows, dug pits and set traps and snares, until I hung a few of her attackers. But that is not the point. Demigod, listen!"

"I'm listening."

"After the third crowing of the cock, there will be no striga, if I understand correctly. What will there be?"

"If all goes well, a fourteen-year-old girl."

"With red eyes? Crocodile's teeth?"

"A normal fourteen-year-old. Except that . . ."

"Well?"

"Physically."

"I see. And mentally? Every day, a bucket of blood for breakfast? A little girl's thigh?"

"No. Mentally . . . There is no telling. On the level, I think, of a three- or four-year-old child. She'll require loving care for a long while."

"That's obvious. Demigod?"

"I'm listening."

"Can it happen to her again? Later on?"

Perseus was silent.

"Aha," said the king. "It can. And what then?"

"Should she die after a long swoon lasting several days, her body will have to be burned. Quickly."

Leonidas grew gloomy.

"I do not think it will come to that," added Perseus. "Just to be sure, I will give you some instructions, your Majesty, to lessen the danger."

"Right now? Is it not too soon, master demigod? And if—"

"This is a serious matter, your Majesty. The risk is great. That is why you must listen: the princess should always wear a sapphire around her neck, or better, an inclusion, on a silver chain. Day and night."

"What is an inclusion?"

"A sapphire with a pocket of air trapped within the stone. Aside from that, every now and then you should burn juniper, broom and aspen in the fireplace of her chamber."

Leonidas grew pensive. 'I thank you for your advice, demigod. I will pay heed if— And now listen to me carefully. If you find the case is hopeless, kill her. If you undo the spell but the girl is not . . . normal. If you have a shadow of a doubt as to whether you have been entirely successful, kill her. Do not worry, you have nothing to fear from me. I'll shout at you in front of others, banish you from the palace and the town, nothing more. Of course I won't give you the reward, but maybe you'll manage to negotiate something from you know who."

They were both quiet for a while.

"Perseus."

"Yes."

"How much truth is there to the rumour that the child is as she is because Gorgo was my sister."

"Not much.", Perseus admitted. "It's true that your congress with your sister was the reason the spell was cast. Apart from that, I don't know."

"Where do such things come from, Perseus? Spells? Magic? The gods?"

Perseus shrugged. "I'm just a demigod, your Majesty. We demigods don't tend to study all that. We just learn how to deal with them."

"And kill them."

"Normally.", Perseus admitted. "That's what we are usually paid for. Most people just want the monsters gone. People don't generally want a spell to be reversed."

"With this?", Leonidas asked, pointing at an ornate sword covered in a silver-black sheath. It hung on the wall like a decorative piece.

"Yes. A mixture of Celestial Bronze and meteorite silver. Deadly to most monsters.""

"So I heard. Do you know what, Perseus? I'm going to the crypt with you."

Perseus shook his head. "Out of the question."

The king's eyes narrowed, and Perseus thought he might have been hanged then and there. "Do you know, demigod, that I have not seen her? Neither after she was born nor later. At least I've got the right to see her while you're murdering her."

Perseus didn't budge from his stance. "I repeat again, your Majesty. It's out of the question. I can easily defend myself against a striga, but with you in there as well, it will be impossible to protect myself and you and lift the curse at the same time."

The king sighed. And left without a word.

The guards walked out of Perseus's chamber and closed the door.

The demigod sighed. He was finally left to his own devices. His eyes glowed a vibrant sea green as water materialized out of existence in his hand in the shape of a cup. The outer part of the shape hardened into ice.

Perseus drank from the cup, relishing the taste of pure water. The day's tiredness instantly vanished, and he felt very powerful. He felt he could have taken on the whole Spartan army at once. And to be honest, with the right conditions, he might have.

But he wasn't here for any of that. Just the contract and then he would leave. Perseus had zero tolerance for politics, and he wouldn't have taken this contract were it not for the three thousand drachma reward.

* * *

Perseus looked out of the palace window for the last time. Dusk was falling rapidly. Beyond the lake the distant lights of Sparta twinkled. There was a wilderness around the old palace – a strip of no-man's land with which, over seven years, the town had cut itself off from this dangerous place, leaving nothing but a few ruins, rotten beams and the remains of a gap-toothed palisade which had obviously not been worth dismantling and moving. As far away as possible – at the opposite end of the settlement – the king had built his new residence. The stout tower of his new palace loomed black in the distance, against the darkening blue of the sky.

In one of the empty, plundered chambers, the demigod returned to the dusty table at which he was preparing, calmly and meticulously. He knew he had plenty of time. The striga would not leave her crypt before midnight.

From the floor, he picked up an oblong packet thickly wrapped in sheep's skins and fastened with a leather strap. He unwrapped it and pulled out a sword with an elaborate hilt, in a black, shiny scabbard covered with rows of runic signs and symbols. He drew the blade, which lit up with a pure shine of mirror-like brightness. It was Celestial Bronze and silver.

The demigod turned his head abruptly. In the silence his hearing, sharpened beyond measure, easily picked out a rustle of footsteps through the courtyard overgrown with stinging nettles. It could not be the striga. The steps were too light. Perseus threw his sword across his back, hid his bundle in the hearth of the ruined chimney-place and, silent as a bat, ran downstairs.

It was still light enough in the courtyard for the approaching man to see the demigod's face. The demigod now wore the armour he used when battling monsters. It was tougher than the previous one, which was shredded to bits by the empousai he had encountered on the way to Sparta.

His new armour, which was really just a backup, was made of leather with Imperial Gold chainmail interwoven in it. It was simple, nothing complex. His black cloak and the sword over his back did make him look menacing.

"You look as if you were already a corpse, demigod," he said. "From fear, no doubt. Don't be afraid. I bring you reprieve."

The demigod did not reply.

"Don't you hear what I say, you Corinthian charlatan? You're saved. And rich." Ostrit hefted a sizeable purse in his hand and threw it at Perseus's feet. "A thousand drachmas. Take it, get on your horse and get out of here!"

The demigod still said nothing.

"Don't gawp at me!" Ostrit raised his voice. "And don't waste my time. I have no intention of standing here until midnight. Don't you understand? I do not wish you to undo the spell. No, you haven't guessed. I am not in league with Valence and Segelin. I don't want you to kill her. You are simply to leave. Everything is to stay as it is."

Perseus frowned slightly, beginning to understand the situation more clearly.

"And why, sir, is everything to remain as it is?" he asked, trying to enunciate each word slowly.

"Now, that," Ostrit raised his head proudly, "should really be of damn little concern to you."

"And what if I already know?"

"Go on."

"It will be easier to remove Leonidas from the throne if the striga frightens the people even more? If the royal madness completely disgusts both magnates and common folk, am I right? I came here by way of Argos. There is much talk there that there are those in Sparta who look to King Phillip as their saviour and true monarch. But I, Lord Ostrit, do not care about politics, or the successions to thrones, or revolutions in palaces. I am here to accomplish my task. Have you never heard of a sense of responsibility and plain honesty? About professional ethics?"

"Careful to whom you speak, you vagabond!" Ostrit yelled furiously, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I have had enough of this. I am not accustomed to hold such discussions! Look at you – ethics, codes of practice, morality?! Who are you to talk? A brigand who's barely arrived before he starts assaulting men? Who bends double to Leonidas and behind his back bargains with Valence like a hired thug? And you dare to turn your nose up at me, you serf? Play at being a Oracle? A Magician? You scheming demigod! Be gone before I run the flat of my sword across your gob!"

The demigod did not stir. He stood calmly, as if daring the man to attack him.

"You're welcome to try.", Perseus said. "But that would be an error. A mortal one."

Ostrit took a step back and drew his sword. "You asked for this you freak! I'll kill you! Your tricks won't save you. I carry a dimeritium stone!"

Perseus didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Dimeritium was a metal which blocked all activity of magic in the vicinity and it's magic cancelling property worked better than Celestial Bronze. It worked almost flawlessly against mages. But demigods rarely used magic. They were inherently stronger and faster than humans. They didn't need magic.

Ostrit didn't even see the demigod move as he was knocked out cold.

Perseus rubbed his palms, staring down at the unconscious noble. "Now what to do with you?..."

* * *

Ostrit quickly regained consciousness and looked around in the total darkness. He noticed that he was tied up. He did not see Perseus standing right beside him. But he realised where he was and let out a prolonged, terrifying howl.

"Keep quiet," said the demigod. "Otherwise you'll lure her out before her time."

"You damned murderer! Where are you? Untie me immediately, you louse! You'll hang for this, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Quiet."

Ostrit panted heavily.

"You're leaving me here to be devoured by her! Tied up?" he asked, quieter now, whispering curses.

"No," said the demigod. "I'll let you go. But not now."

"You scoundrel," hissed Ostrit. "To distract the striga?"

"Yes."

Ostrit didn't say anything. He stopped wriggling and lay quietly.

"Demigod?"

"Yes."

"It's true that I wanted to overthrow Leonidas. I'm not the only one. But I am the only one who wanted him dead. I wanted him to die in agony, to go mad, to rot alive. Do you know why?"

Perseus remained silent.

"I loved Gorgo. The king's sister. The king's mistress. The king's trollop. I loved her— Demigod, are you there?"

"I am."

"I know what you're thinking. But it wasn't like that. Believe me, I didn't cast any spells. I don't know anything about magic. Only once in anger did I say . . . Only once. Demigod? Are you listening?"

"I am."

"It's his mother, the old queen. It must be her. She couldn't watch him and Gorgo— It wasn't me. I only once, you know, tried to persuade them but Gorgo— Demigod! I was besotted, and said . . . Demigod? Was it me? Me?"

"No.", Perseus said. "But something heard you. Feeding on your anger, it did the work."

Ostrit didn't hear the scrape of the tomb lid being moved, but the demigod heard it. He knocked out the noble again before he starting spewing out dying words.

Perseus never meant to lead Ostrit to his death, but the man deserved to piss his pants at the very least.

Perseus was arguably the best monster hunter anyone could wish to hire. Yet his weak point was to lure monsters. He simply hated making those complicated lures and sitting and waiting. It irritated him and made him itch to draw his sword.

So he did what he thought was best. He whistled and hollered.

"HEY! UGLY BASTARD!"

The effect was better than intended. The striga ran into the small room, leaping at him. Perseus didn't want to fight it in such a confined space, so he leapt out of the tower, landing in the courtyard on one knee.

Immediately the demigod rolled to the side. A wise choice too, as the striga's long talons struck the ground immediately afterward.

Then he got a good look at the striga and the demigod grimaced. The description had been accurate. The disproportionately large head set on a short neck was surrounded by a tangled, curly halo of reddish hair. Her eyes shone in the darkness like an animal's. The striga stood motionless, her gaze fixed on Perseus. Suddenly she opened her jaws – as if proud of her rows of pointed white teeth – then snapped them shut with a crack like a chest being closed. And leapt, slashing at the demigod with her bloodied claws.

Perseus didn't jump away, merely twisting his body out of her reach, then elbowing the monster's face, sending it crashing to the ground a few metres away.

The striga roared horribly, filling the palace with a booming echo, fell to the ground, froze and started to howl hollowly and furiously.

The demigod smiled maliciously. His first attempt, as he had hoped, had gone well. The godly metals like Celestial Bronze and Imperial Gold was fatal to the striga, as it was for most monsters brought into existence through magic. So there was a chance: the beast was like the others, and that boded well for lifting the spell, while the sword would, as a last resort, assure his life.

The striga was in no hurry to attack again, and looked warily at the demigod now. Perseus almost felt disappointed in the demigod who had gotten killed by this monster. _This_ killed a demigod? To be honest it might have just been a legacy. Maybe the great grandson of a demigod.

The striga tensed it's legs and prepared to leap. Perseus looked to the side. There were several puddles of muddy water. Perfect.

As the monster leaped at him, two watery ropes materialized out of existence and lashed it. Logically, the water should have simply splashed against it's skin, but the ropes he conjured hit the striga like they were made of metal, not water.

The monster's face bled as a small cut appeared, and the striga backtracked again, looking at the demigod in slight fear.

Perseus frowned when it didn't attack again. If he kept up, it might run away, and he didn't want that to happen, or else it might end up in the city, going on a killing spree. And it was definitely hungry.

The demigod sighed, releasing the water, allowing it to slosh down. He removed his gauntlets. "Alright. Let's settle this man to beast."

The monster leapt at him with glee in it's eyes.

* * *

( _Unknown Location_ )

"Sisters. We have come together to-"

"Ahem.", a male voice coughed.

The woman ignored the interruption. "To discuss a delicate matter."

"What is it?", a female voice spoke. The whole table turned to look at her. She was undeniably beautiful. Black hair and blue eyes and a shapely body to boot. Dressed in a very revealing outfit that most men would drool over, she was the perfect example of what a sorceress would look like.

It was clear she was in charge, and the woman speaking didn't seem to mind her interruption, instead nodding and replying.

"It's about a demigod. One who is currently in Sparta."

"And tell me, Medea, why this is so important?"

The sorceress called Medea gritted her teeth, but didn't answer rudely. "It is Perseus."

At this, there was a round of confusion at the table, along with a few gasps. A blonde haired woman stood. She had striking grey eyes and could easily pass as a princess, were it not for the fact that she was a well known sorceress. In fact, she was the royal advisor to King Leonidas of Sparta.

"And for what reason are you spying in _my_ kingdom, Medea?"

The black haired woman, who up till now uttered only a word, snapped her fingers, making both sorceresses sit down. "I want no arguments here, is that clear. This is the Conclave of Mages, not some roadside inn. This goes for you too, Annabeth."

The blonde haired sorceress nodded numbly, not wishing to argue more. She was proud, true. But Circe wasn't someone you wanted to cross. Circe was the most powerful mage in the world. Her being the daughter of Hecate gave her a much more refined control over magic than regular mages and as much as anyone would like to argue, she was in a league of her own.

Circe looked at Annabeth, her purple eyes piercing her. "Since he is in Sparta, it is your duty to find out why he is there. Bring him in.", Circe said greedily. Having a child of the big three under their command would make the mages more powerful than ever.

Annabeth nodded reluctantly. "Fine. I will check up on Perseus. Last I heard he was hunting the striga. As for him agreeing to your offer, I highly doubt it. If this is all we have to discuss, then I will take my leave."

Without waiting for permission, the blonde sorceress vanished in a flash of grey feathers.

"Hmf.", Medea scoffed. "She was always so pretentious."

"And snobbish.", another added.

Circe sighed. "Now that Annabeth is gone. Let us discuss a few other things. For example, I want to know what that idiot son of Zeus is doing."

Medea frowned. "But …didn't you tell him to do it?"

Circe snorted. "I told Heracles to assassinate the King of Crete. Assassinate. Not make a grand spectacle. He not only left witnesses on the boat, he openly used magic and made himself seen by passersby on Delos!"

Medea nodded. "Yes, but he got the job done."

Circe glared at the black haired sorceress. "Yes. He did. He also made it look like a mage was responsible."

"What about Leonidas?", a voice asked. It was the same male voice from before.

"We will not eliminate Leonidas.", Circe said. "There is no need for this to escalate this further. Am I clear?"

There was a general agreement. Unlike the now deceased King of Crete, Leonidas was actually a competent ruler, and he managed his state reasonably well, which was more than could be said about other rulers.

Medea twirled her ring. "What about Phillip? Day by day he grows distrustful. I don't like it. He's keeping state affairs hidden from me."

Another sorceress snorted. "Maybe he's actually faithful to his wife."

Medea glared at the woman. "Shut up, Pasiphae. As I recall, you fucked a bull."

An argument ensued, and this time, Circe didn't feel like settling it, instead teleporting out of the area.

* * *

The roar she gave was louder than all the previous ones. Even the plaster crumbled from the ceiling.

The striga sprang up, shaking with uncontrolled anger and lust for murder. Perseus waited. He drew his sword, traced circles with it in the air, and skirted the striga, taking care that the movement of his sword was not in rhythm with his steps.

Suddenly, the demigod froze in place, still as a statue. The monster, confused by his sudden stiffness, approached him eagerly, hoping to get a free snack.

Unfortunately, this was all part of the demigod's plan. When the monster got sufficiently close enough, Perseus dashed in a diagonal direction, speeding just behind the striga. He batted aside the monster his the flat of his blade, sending it careening down a flight of stairs.

Before it could recover, a wall of water formed at the entrance leading below, sealing the monster inside. Perseus couldn't kill it, so he decided to hold the monster there till daybreak. By his estimate, there was another three hours left.

The demigod sighed. This was going to be a tough three hours for him. Water control didn't tire him much, but you try holding a wall of water for three hours straight.

When dawn came, he scrambled down the staircase, aching, numb, cold. And then he saw her. She was lying on her back next to the tomb, naked and unconscious.

She was rather ugly. Slim with small pointed breasts, and dirty. Her hair – flaxen-red – reached almost to her waist. Standing the lamp on the slab, he knelt beside her and leant over. Her lips were pale and her face was bloody where he had hit her cheekbone. Perseus removed his gloves, put his sword aside and, without any fuss, drew up her top lip with his finger. Her teeth were normal. He reached for her hand which was buried in her tangled hair. Before he took it he saw her open eyes. Too late.

She swiped him across the neck with her talons, cutting him deeply. Blood splashed on to her face. She howled, striking him in the eyes with her other hand. He fell on her, grabbing her by the wrists, nailing her to the floor. She gnashed her teeth – which were now too short – in front of his face. He butted her in the face with his forehead and pinned her down harder. She had lost her former strength; she could only writhe beneath him, howling, spitting out blood – his blood – which was pouring over her mouth. His blood was draining away quickly. There was no time. The demigod cursed and bashed his forehead hard against her nose, pleased when he heard a crack.

He let her go when she stopped moving, got to his knees, tore a piece of canvas from his sleeve pocket and pressed it to his neck. He felt for his sword, held the blade to the unconscious girl's throat, and leant over her hand. The nails were dirty, broken, bloodied but . . . normal. Completely normal.

The demigod got up with difficulty. The sticky-wet greyness of early morning was flooding in through the crypt's entrance. He made a move towards the stairs but staggered and sat down heavily on the floor. Blood was pouring through the drenched canvas onto his hands, running down his sleeve. He crawled towards the puddle of water, knowing that he didn't have much time, that he would soon faint . . .

He succeeded. And fainted, falling right onto the water.

In Sparta, beyond the lake, a cock, ruffling his feathers in the cold damp, crowed hoarsely for the third time.

* * *

When Perseus woke, he saw the whitened walls and beamed ceiling of the small chamber above the guardroom. He cracked his neck, checking for his injury. He could feel a small scar there, but nothing else. It seemed the water did it's trick as usual.

"Ah. The demigod awakens.", a voice said, belonging to none other than the Castellan.

"My sword?", Perseus asked.

"Yes, yes. Of course, what is most important is your demigod's sword. It's here, don't worry. Both the sword and your little trunk. And the three thousand drachmas. Yes, yes, don't utter a word. It is I who am an old fool and you the wise demigod. Leonidas has been repeating it over and over for the last six hours."

Perseus frowned. "That bad?"

"Oh yes, two. She slit your neck open quite thoroughly. One could see everything you have inside there. You lost a great deal of blood. Fortunately we hurried to the palace straight after the third crowing of the cock. Nobody slept in Sparta that night. It was impossible, you made a terrible noise. Does my talking tire you?"

Perseus cracked a smile, then noticed the other occupant in the room. For a moment, his lips curled up, resembling a smile. She wore nothing but plain brown skin tight trousers and a grey blouse that hugged her curves, along with a small cloak reaching till her knees. Her black boots tapped on the floor impatiently.

"Annabeth.", he acknowledged.

Valence looked back and forth between the two of them. "Ah … I see you already know the royal advisor, Lady Annabeth … I shall take my leave then."

The blonde sorceress nodded.

After Valence left, Annabeth approached the demigod. "How are you feeling, Percy?"

Perseus sighed. "Fine. For the most part. Can't believe I let that thing get me. Getting sloppier by the decade."

Annabeth laughed with mirth in her voice. "Understatement of the century. What were you trying to do Percy? Mount her?"

Perseus rolled his eyes. "Quit it, Anna."

"Ah.", Annabeth sighed. "It's good to see you again, Percy."

Perseus nodded grimly. "I'd like to say the same, but whenever you arrive, it's always Conclave business."

The blonde sorceress sighed again. "I'm afraid so. It's Circe and Medea. They're starting to spy in my kingdom now, despite my warnings not to. Those two are paranoid about you, Percy. They all are."

Perseus chuckled. "Of me? I'm just a lowly demigod."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that rubbish, Percy. We both know that's not true, or else the Conclave wouldn't have taken such an interest in you. They're scared."

Perseus's eyes darkened. "They damn well should be. After all the shit they've pulled, I don't know why Jason or Theseus haven't impaled them atop the gates of Kastro Pigasus."

Annabeth looked down. The actions of the mages wasn't taken kindly by the demigods or the nature spirits. The mages were safe till now only because demigods stayed neutral and didn't join the Symphora.

Perseus sighed. "Alright Annabeth. What is it? An no, I won't join your little Conclave."

Annabeth shook her head. "I know you well enough for that Percy. And frankly, I don't want you to join."

Perseus snorted. "If you hate the Conclave so much, why be there? Why be a royal advisor?"

Annabeth shrugged. "What else am I to do, Percy? Hunt monsters like you and Jason? Or Theseus? There are a great many things a sorceress would do, except for that."

"Huh.", Perseus quipped. "So hunting down the filth in the world is too lowly for you?"

Annabeth glared at him. "You know that's not what I meant."

The both sat in silence until Annabeth broke it. "So, what will you do now? The king's reward is enough to settle you comfortably for a year at least."

Perseus sighed. "Dunno. I'll collect the reward, then I'm heading straight back to Kastro Pigasus. I hear Jason's done well, got a contract on a manticore. Theseus will come, then it's a merry band."

Annabeth's eyes widened slightly, and her voice grew small at the monster's name. "Manticore?"

Perseus smirked. "Yeah. Somewhere near the borders of Persia I think. He told me he glimpsed a sight of the Persian armies, then flew right back. Good thing too, they nearly shot him down, thinking he was some mage from the Conclave. Didn't help that he cast lightning on a few of them.

Annabeth laughed. Jason would always be the same.

* * *

Perseus walked across the empty hall of the royal palace. Several marble pillars lined up, all the way towards the throne. Guards stood at every pillar, watching the demigod with a mixture of disgust and awe at the same time, if that was possible. A bit of respect too, as he had cured the king's daughter of her 'illness'.

Leonidas sat on his large throne and acknowledged the demigod. The king was grinning ear to ear, and his fourteen year old daughter was beside him, although she acted like a toddler. Which was to be expected, since only her body matured during the curse, not her mind.

He had learnt that Ostrit was sentenced to death by the king after learning of his supposed treason. Where Leonidas got the information, Perseus didn't even want to know.

A somewhat small sack was handed to Perseus by the king, which the demigod graciously accepted. Obviously he didn't count the money in front of the king. That would be utterly disrespectful, and though Leonidas wasn't a saint, Perseus found him a lot nicer than most rulers.

He nodded to the king and then proceeded to leave. He walked contentedly towards the throne room doors, his sack over his shoulder.

The demigod almost left the room, when he noticed something strange. The guards … where were they?

He suddenly heard a thud as a dead guard fell to the floor near the king's throne. His eyes followed the trail of corpses and found a dual wielding assassin strike at the king.

Luckily, the king parried away one attack, but the assassin kicked the king down to the floor, preparing to kill him.

Seeing this, Perseus's hand flashed up and unsheathed his sword as he sprinted to the king's aid. The assailant turned around, surprised to see the demigod.

Perseus threw a knife at the assassin, who managed to deflect off of one of his swords. The assassin and Perseus then circled each other, spinning their weapons.

Both jumped forward at the same time. The assassin struck one blow after another, and the demigod parried both the attacks so quickly that only one clang of metal was heard.

Perseus then used the longsword to stab at the assassin, who dodged and converted it into a pirouette, slashing at the demigod, who smacked it away with the flat of his blade. It was clear now to Perseus that he was facing another demigod.

Perseus's eyes narrowed. The assassin wasn't just skilled. He was fast as well. The fact that he had the gall to pirouette around Perseus, exposing himself, was irritating. It showed he didn't quite understand what Perseus could do.

Then Perseus stopped holding back. He attacked faster and faster. Soon, the assassin wasn't able to keep up with the speed and ferocity of the attacks. Perseus ducked under the assassin's feeble attempt to stab his face, then he used his sword's crossguard to catch the blades and knock them out of his hands.

In a flash, Perseus had the assassin pinned against the wall with a longsword pressed against his throat. "Who is behind this?!", Perseus hissed.

The man simply smiled as black veins reached near his brown eyes. The demigod-assassin dropped dead, and Perseus left him on the floor in shock. Now the events came back to him. It was … a demigod. But why? Why would a demigod try to kill Leonidas? Demigods were neutral, and they certainly weren't regicides.

The king stood beside Perseus, staring at the corpse in pure relief. "Thank you, Perseus."

The son of Poseidon nodded numbly, staring at the corpse of the assassin, who was also a demigod.

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 **A/N: Alright. I gotta make some things clear. ALL big three demigods have been nerfed. If the plot is to be relevant, they have to be nerfed. I'm sorry. You will not see Percy single handedly massacre an entire Persian army (it's different if he causes a tsunami. He can do that.). And you will absolutely not see Percy defeating even one Olympian. Minor god is ok, but not Olympian.**

 **I have purposely written an ambiguous relationship between Percy and Annabeth so I can decide later what to do with them. I don't want to commit to a pairing so early. Several others, like Zoe are still yet to meet him.**

 **If you have any questions about the lore of this world you can ask me in the reviews or PM me.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


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